Miss MacMillan's Murder Mysteries
by whopooh
Summary: What would happen if Mac was the rich heiress coming back to Melbourne, and the best friend meeting her was Doctor Phryne Fisher? How would Mac be - still herself, still lesbian, but also the woman who becomes a Lady Detective? And Phryne - a doctor caring about the women most in need? And how would Jack meet both of them and fall in love with Doctor Fisher? Last chapter is now up!
1. Cocaine Blues

_Hi! It was some time since I last published a story here, but now I'm on it again! This is a multi-chapter fic exploring this alternate universe where Phryne is the doctor friend to The Honourable Miss MacMillan. Since both of these characters are strong, wonderful women with a similar approach to things like justice and how to care about other people, I thought the swap between them would be possible. The idea of Jack starting to work with this fun, lesbian lady detective, and then getting to know and fancy her cool and clever doctor friend really interested me. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

It was the last day of a more than month-long journey; the ship had been comfortable and provided some interesting people to talk to, but it was entirely too long for a restless woman like herself. Perhaps that had been a good thing as it forced her to be still and think about the choices she'd made—she had always been good at forging ahead, seeking out the next place, the next interest. There was so much to experience and so little time! Her extensive library was proof of that, as well as her broad range of friendships and adventures. But this journey had been long enough, and she longed to feel the ground beneath her feet again—the Melbourne ground she hadn't set foot in for years. Not since she was only a scruff of a girl with her red hair in long, slightly unkempt strands, before she was unexpectedly whisked away to a life of wealth and privilege in England, all because of a distant relative dying in the war.

"Ten more minutes, Miss," one of the fellow passengers said to her with a smile; she wasn't alone in anticipating the disembarking.

She stood on deck, watching the boat dock, feeling the bustling energy of the dock workers wash over her. Now she was here, in Melbourne. Was this another attempt at going away or was she actually going home? She had no idea, but she knew her life was in transition, and it made her feel thoroughly content.

Her fedora was placed in a rakish angle on her head, and to fit the naval theme of the day she had donned a navy-and-white cravat to her immaculately cut three-piece suit, the fine silk billowing slightly in the breeze. When the boat had finally settled, she strode down the landing to set foot in her home town again, more than ready for any adventure the city would hold.

To her delight, the first thing she saw was her best friend in the world come to meet her: Doctor Phryne Fisher, whom she affectionally called "Fish", although the rest of the world hadn't picked up that endearment. She scrutinized her elegantly dressed friend, the raven-coloured hair forming a perfect black bob beneath a beige beret with a red feather stuck jauntily on the side.

"If it isn't the Honourable Miss Elizabeth Macmillan!" Fish said with a large smile on her face. "About time, Lizzy!"

They embraced fiercely; the hug didn't seem to want to end, ever. Lizzy didn't mind in the least. They hadn't seen each other since Fish was last in Europe, years ago, and now they were together again Lizzy could hardly believe she'd survived so long without her. The familiar sound of Fish's English accent, almost without a trace of the Australian brouge although she'd been back home for a decade, was like a balm to Lizzy's soul. It amused her that for all the time she herself had been in Europe, she still had the Australian accent—despite, or perhaps rather because of, the tears and recriminations of half a dozen finishing school teachers.

They linked arms and headed for a taxi, falling into an easy pace together as they always did.

"How are the Antipodes?" Lizzy asked.

"They've missed you desperately," Fish answered, smiling, and Lizzy heard she really meant it.

"Well, so they damn well should," she retorted, squeezing Fish's arm as they made their way among the buzzing crowd.

* * *

"The Windsor. Of course," Fish said as they entered Lizzy's hotel, smiling at her long-lost friend and her predictable habits.

"Of course," Lizzy answered with a tilt of her head.

She had booked the most luxurious suite—what was the point in being an heiress if you didn't use it for comfort? This was a philosophy she had adopted shortly after the Great War—after having endured mud, blood, and fleas to last a life time, and then added to that her consecutive half year of poverty in Paris, where she and Fish had saved each other from starving more than once.

It had been a romantic life, living in the Sapphic circles of the city while occasionally modelling for the up-and-coming but still incredibly poor artists. She had learned there that it was possible to own her inclinations without hiding; showing to the world exactly how a woman who loves women behaves. Fish had been there too, even if she didn't really dabble in the Sapphic inclinations, preferring to explore the male bohemians.

At that time, Fish had had long, curly hair flowing over her shoulders, while Lizzy's own red had been chopped defiantly short to match her rebellious clothes. As the years passed, Lizzy had found her own style; slightly more subdued, but nevertheless rather obvious, and always exquisitely tailored. She was not here to apologise, and she had no intention of conforming to anyone's expectation of what a woman should be. She loved to wear beautiful men's wear but she kept her hair long these days—she loved the contrast and the contradiction it embodied. It kept people on their toes.

"Tea?" Lizzy asked.

"Well, if you don't have anything stronger," Fish retorted; it was such a typical Fish comment Lizzy laughed out loud and squeezed her friend's arm.

"It sure is good to be back, Fish."

For some years after Paris she had travelled, but for the last few she had been settled in London. No matter where she was, she had turned life into a celebration—of adventure, knowledge, and beauty. She loved to indulge others with it too. Regarding Fish, she predicted that would mostly meant plying her with the best whisky to be found in Australia. She wouldn't mind that.

"Why did you come back, Lizzy? What is there for you in Melbourne?" Fish said as she walked up to the window to admire the view. Then she turned to her friend with a challenging look in her eyes. "You've had months at sea to ponder, after all."

Straight to the point, then—so typically Fish. That was one of the ways they were rather alike. They might seem different: Lizzy a rich and slightly scandalous woman, almost always dressed in men's clothes, interested in everything, but never really stopping to dig too deep; Fish a hard-working doctor with multiple jobs and a singular interest in making the lives of the less fortunate a little bit better. But that was just the surface: they were both as loyal, generous, and caring as the other, and they were joined in a deep appreciation of sarcasm. Also, if you just scratched the surface of Fish, she turned out to be rather scandalous too. As respectable as she was in her work, she still led a life as a single woman, regularly taking lovers and with a spectacular disinterest in the conventional female roles of wife or mother. Her way of life was a potential bomb that could endanger her reputation, but so far it hadn't blown up in her face.

"Maybe I just needed something new?" Lizzy said.

"Melbourne is old and home and you know it." Fish paused and lowered her voice. "It's Janey, isn't it?"

She flicked her eyes away but nodded reluctantly; of course it was about Janey, as so much was. Janey, Lizzy's sister who had never seen her eleventh birthday, who had been abducted and never found; Janey, who cast a shadow over most of Lizzy's childhood—a shadow of guilt, and loss, and the burden of not knowing. Fish had seen it all, when it happened and in the aftermath, and she was not a woman easy to fool.

"Darling, you can't bring Janey back," Fish said.

"But I can make sure he never does it again." Lizzy's gaze was steady, this was not something she was unsure about. Then her features softened. "Also, I missed you, Fish. You hardly ever come to Europe." She paused for only a second before barging on, rolling her eyes. "And of course, it's always a good thing to keep away from my family."

"Trying to marry you off again, are they?" Fish smiled at the thought.

"They put up the pressure considerably this time around," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I think they fear I'm getting too old for anything."

"That sounds rather promising," Fish said. "Maybe you'll finally get some peace and quiet. Perhaps you'll even move out into the country side? Go fishing?"

Lizzy laughed. "Yes. Peace and quiet have always been at the top of my wish list, as you know."

They were disturbed by a message for Lizzy, inviting her to lunch. Fish almost looked like she could be enticed to join, until Lizzy revealed her Aunt Prudence would be there too. The Doctor looked at her and tilted her head.

"Such a shame I have to go and perform an urgent bowel operation."

It might very well be true, but if it wasn't, it was the best excuse ever. Clever Fish, who had managed to complete her physician's training after the war, despite their adventures in Paris, and who had helped start the much-needed women's hospital in Melbourne. Dear Fish, finding a way to both stimulate her voracious mind and make a difference for other people. Her knack already as they were kids, to keep a cool mind, had paid off splendidly. Lizzy found she envied her a little, even as she knew she craved more variety than that. But to have a place, a task, and a mission—to make a difference. Wasn't that exactly what Lizzy herself wanted too?

* * *

Curiously, it didn't take her particularly long to stumble upon a mission of her own. She had deigned to wear an ensemble of trousers and blouse in red and white that could more or less pass as feminine, so as not to shock Aunt Prudence's tender sensibilities too quickly. It didn't work, of course. Aunt P still pulled a face at Lizzy not wearing a dress and remarked that perhaps Lizzy hadn't realised it was supposed to be a social gathering today. But the luncheon turned out to be cancelled, as her friend Lydia's husband had died the same morning.

Lizzy knew she had an overly enquiring mind, but she couldn't resist checking out the crime scene. As she snuck into the bathroom where the body had been found, she realised all her instincts were on fire: her habit of noticing details, her proclivity to make deductions, her way of knowing a little bit about everything. This was interesting. This did not seem to be an innocuous death. This was a puzzle that needed to be solved.

"Police! Open up!" She was disturbed in her snooping by a knock at the door. Her tricking the young constable had obviously only bought her that much time. After a deliberate delay, Lizzy opened the door to see a man standing there together with the constable. He was very properly dressed, in a striped three-piece suit and a long coat, all of it in grey tones, and with properly pomaded hair. He gave her a cool look.

"This is a crime scene," he stated flatly. He looked dour, but there was something in his demeanour that made Lizzy think this was partly an act, that he wanted to be perceived as dour.

"Well, lucky for you, Inspector, I'm wearing gloves," she said and held up her hands with their white cotton gloves. She was rewarded with a piercing gaze. The gaze turned intrigued instead when she gave him her view of the murder—and clearly annoyed at the constable, who started to take notes of her findings. That was a very perceptive young man, knowing quality when he saw it, Lizzy couldn't help thinking.

The Inspector attempted to dismiss her from his crime scene, but even then, he was rather courteous and respectful; he also seemed brighter than the average man. Intelligence was not a quality Lizzy had come to expect from men, especially those in positions of authority, so it always came as a pleasant surprise when she found it. This, the Honourable Miss MacMillan decided, could get interesting.

She wasn't wrong. The coming days proved to be even more eventful.

She visited Fish at the women's hospital and snooped around to help a young girl who'd been treated to an illegal abortion. She befriended the two taxi drivers who had brought the girl in—she appreciated their toughness and their gentleness, their sense of justice and humour, and how they enjoyed her sharp wit and slightly scandalous behaviour. Bert and Cec were clearly worth their weight in gold, and she was certainly going to show them she appreciated that. Finally, she took Lydia's sweet and clever maid in—there was no way Lizzy could abandon her when she was falsely accused of murder and dismissed, and in the end, she realised Dot would make the perfect companion for her, as her opposite in almost every way imaginable.

At Lydia's charity soirée, she was challenged to dance tango with the stunning French-Russian dancer Ellie de Lisse—to a few raised eyebrows, not least her Aunt Prudence's, who wasn't prepared to see Lizzy dance in the male position. But a challenge was a challenge, and Lizzy was not a woman backing down from that. She later brought this beautiful and wonderfully agile woman home to her hotel room for a rather glorious night.

Surprisingly, after several turns, all the evidence of foul play in the case turned back to Lydia's husband. Or, as was slowly revealed, Lydia herself.

* * *

The first time Detective Inspector Jack Robinson saw Miss MacMillan—in a bathroom that was supposed to be off-limits for guests—he thought she was a bored socialite, flaunting convention for the sake of it.

As the bathroom door opened, he gazed into a pair of blue, curious eyes that seemed to immediately assess him, as if he was the trespasser and not her. She had a striking, decisive face—more handsome than beautiful perhaps, her jaw set, her quirked lips painted a deep burgundy and her neat red hair perfectly controlled by a black fedora, only a few strands peeking out on one side.

"You must be the Inspector. Apologies for my urgent call of nature," the woman said. She didn't sound like she was sorry, more like she found an inner amusement in seeing how he would react to a statement like that.

"This is the scene of a crime," he said sternly and moved into the room, followed by Constable Collins, and forcing her to take a step back. She leaned slightly on the door and watched him—her casual air only belied by the intense eyes following his movements.

He took in her appearance. She was dressed in a jacket with an upturned collar in a deep red that set off her hair spectacularly, a contrasting white blouse, and perfectly fitted white trousers that flowed from her hips and gave her a tomboy, almost androgynous, look. Jack noticed this as, even if it wasn't unheard of these days, he only rarely met women in trousers. He couldn't even imagine Rosie, his wife, wearing a pair; he suspected she would rather be caught dead. On Miss MacMillan, they looked like the most natural fashion choice in the world.

"Well," she answered his understated accusation of messing up his crime scene, "lucky for you, Inspector, I'm wearing gloves." He supposed that was rather well done, all things considered.

As soon as she'd held up her hands and showed him her white gloves, she pulled the right one off and held out her hand.

"Miss Elizabeth MacMillan." Her voice was friendly, with an edge of challenge. He took her hand and shook it—she had a strong handshake—before asking her a few questions about her relation to the deceased.

He regularly came across women that found his line of work "intriguing" and "fascinating", and who tried to make him tell exciting stories at social events. He knew the drill. But this woman wasn't anything like that; he quickly had to reassess her status as "just" a socialite. When she—completely unbidden, of course—summarised her conclusions, she noticed an impressive amount of details, and even Jack had to admit she captured it all in a few sentences. She also seemed to have a better grasp of the dead man's breakfast than he had himself, which rather annoyed him. He tried to censor her and make her leave the bathroom, but she evaded him. She was clearly used to being listened to—her voice was rather commanding, and she speculated with enough confidence to make young Collins write down her assessment as if they were words from a superior.

When he was about to throw her out, she asked for his card, claiming herself—with a sarcastic head tilt and a challenging smile that spoke against every word she said—to be "after all, a woman alone, newly arrived in a dangerous town." She emphasised the words far too much to be taken seriously and it made Jack want to laugh. The way she moved was certainly not demure and the way she assessed him anything but innocent. It was a perfect satire of a damsel in distress, and it was completely without flirtatious overtones. Jack didn't particularly feel like a target of her satire, more like being allowed to witness a spectacle of irony at play.

He pulled out one of his cards and gave it to her with a look he hoped conveyed that he understood her game.

The second time Jack Robinson saw Miss MacMillan—visiting his police station, in the company of two red raggers he knew from the docks—he thought she was anything but a bored socialite. It was not boredom that fuelled this woman, it was passion. She was very business-like, immediately getting to the heart of the matter with Butcher George, a man who clearly disgusted her. She questioned the logic of the law regarding abortions, and he could see a spark of righteous anger that could very well set fire to anyone who happened to pass by. He chose to acknowledge this by saluting her with the tea cup in hand.

"I am not the one who can change the laws, Miss MacMillan," he said, his voice a mixture of resigned and challenging—he was a simple copper, after all, and she was the one with the aristocratic connections.

Her eyes flashed when she retorted that if he couldn't, she would have to find a way around it instead.

He watched as she left the station with her two friends. He felt certain this wasn't the last he would see of her.

* * *

He was of course right. Only a day and a half later, he had to rush to her aid as she had been trapped in a steaming room in the Turkish bath. Lizzy wasn't afraid particularly often, but she had started to wonder if she wouldn't make it out in time, and if her idea to live in Melbourne would become very short-lived indeed. Her brain refused to give up—she still tried to come up with a plan to stop the heat from entering the room when she heard noises outside. Could it be the cavalry?

When the door was finally opened, she sat on her knees naked, and with an Ellie de Lisse—who had failed to confront the people responsible for her brother's death— in only a scanty towel behind her. She couldn't help but smile up into poor Inspector Robinson's face. The man was clearly not prepared for something like this being part of his nightshift. He took it rather quickly in his stride, though—joking with her and chivalrously offering his coat to cover her up. She hadn't expected that, but it pleased her immensely.

Lizzy thanked a god she didn't really believe in for Dot proving to be as loyal and steadfast as she had guessed, placing that call to the police and convincing them to come. Lizzy was sure she would not regret taking her in as a companion. Perhaps this had been an overly radical and daring test of the young girl's capacity, but it had turned out for the best.

Late morning the following day, she was brutally awoken by Fish, pulling the curtains and letting all the light into the hotel room. For good measure, Fish also threw her red cloche at her.

"Come on then, Lizzy. Tell me how clever you are. What made you think Lydia Andrews was the murderer?"

Lizzy yawned and started to explain while Dot served them tea. It had all been so obvious in the end. So, she continued by telling Fish of her new idea—to keep on doing this kind of work and become a lady detective. To her surprise, Fish didn't even blink.

"That sounds marvellous, darling," was all she said. "Let's go dancing tonight—I know a wonderful place—but lunch first! Who do you want me to call?"

In the end, Fish got hold of the two taxi drivers and Dot to join their celebration, and they were just about to drink to her new idea when two newcomers unexpectedly arrived.

* * *

Jack had searched for Miss Macmillan for a while—he needed to talk some sense into her; she couldn't just walk around and cause explosions like that. When he finally managed to get hold of her, she seemed to be in the middle of a small celebration. There were the red raggers she had brought to the station, and the young maid he had questioned about John Andrew's death. There was also a raven-haired woman mingling about and pouring champagne into their glasses. She was beautifully dressed in white and gold, and she had a confident air around her. He wondered if he ought to be able to place her, but he couldn't.

"Inspector Robinson and Constable Collins. What a nice surprise," Lizzy said, and turned to the black-haired woman. "These are the civil policemen I was talking about earlier, Fish."

Fish, he thought. That's a very odd name. It also seemed singularly ill-matched to the elegance of the woman it referred to. Who could she be, and what was her relation to Miss MacMillan?

"So you are the policeman who managed to both save Lizzy and protect her modesty?" the Fish woman asked, searching the senior officer's eyes with an—he couldn't help noticing—very elegantly raised eyebrow. "That's no small feat for a man."

Jack felt a slight emphasis on the last word of her utterance, but he wasn't sure what it was meant to imply. He held her gaze for a long moment, a small smile hiding in the corner of his lips as he tried to make sense of the woman in front of him. There was something in his gut that immediately reacted to the subtle challenge in her tone, the way her eyes seemed to assess him—she was evaluating him, and he had no idea if she found him wanting or not. He felt he needed to parry her, fight her, but he didn't have any leverage for that.

Fish. Who could be called Fish? Was that a short-form for something? Finally, his brain provided him with the answer that had eluded him.

"It's Doctor Fisher, isn't it?" he said, waiting for her small nod of acknowledgement before continuing. "I have heard good things about your line of work at the women's hospital."

He registered her crimson lips forming into a small smile, a smile that had no business affecting him the way it did. He had a fleeting memory that there might be rumours about this doctor, but he couldn't seem to remember any details.

He turned to Miss MacMillan.

"Your hat, Miss MacMillan. And when you're fully hydrated, I'd like a private word."

Miss MacMillan deflected that, challenging him to state his errand for all to hear. The tips of her ears did get slightly red when he told them of the explosion at the Turkish bath—although he didn't say aloud that he attributed it to her tinkering—but she quickly composed herself, assuring Jack she didn't see crime as a game. He clearly wasn't convinced, but she was about to prove it to him. Doctor Fisher handed out glasses of champagne to the two newcomers.

"Now, raise a glass to my new business," Miss MacMillan smiled.

"What kind of business?" Jack asked.

Doctor Fisher was the one to provide the answer.

"To my oldest friend's newest enterprise—the Honourable Miss Elizabeth MacMillan, lady detective."

Jack choked on his champagne at the moniker, and he was certain his surprise pleased Miss MacMillan immensely. He could see her smile turn full on radiant as she toasted him.

As Jack came home to his bungalow in Richmond in the evening, he poured himself a rather stiff drink. He needed it. The shock the previous evening, of realising he had almost failed to save Miss MacMillan from a death in heat—because of stubbornness, and policeman's pride, and because he had chosen the worst possible moment to try to teach her a lesson—and then the fury of fire as the Turkish bath exploded. It had all taken its toll. And today, seeking Miss MacMillan out just to find her going into the detective business, confidence written all over her face.

He didn't know what to feel. Even as he was annoyed—very reasonably so, he reminded himself—he couldn't help to also smile into the glass with the amber liquid. She was infuriating, confident, and clearly stubborn, but she was also rather a lot of fun; he supposed he could admit that to himself in his solitude. She had dealt with the illegal abortion ring and caught the notorious King of Snow—no one could take that away from her, even if she was an amateur. But she disregarded rules and seemed to find normal ways of approaching a case highly insufficient.

"Interesting". That was probably the word he was looking for. He grimaced to himself, recalling the old adage about living in "interesting times"—well, times certainly looked set to become interesting with this redhaired force of nature around.

He downed the last of his drink and contemplated a second one, but opted for bed instead.


	2. Murder on the Ballarat Train

_Chapter two - Lizzy asks Dot to travel with her to Ballarat. Of course there is a murder on the train. And before Lizzy knows it, she meets Jack Robinson again. When the case is finished, Jack comes over for a nightcap, and Lizzy is not alone._

 _Thank you for your kind response to the first chapter!_

* * *

"Maybe I should stay behind to help with the unpacking, Miss," Dorothy "Dot" Williams said as they stood on the platform in line to buy tickets. "Wouldn't I be of more use?"

Lizzy rolled her eyes at her companion.

"I didn't invite you along to be useful, Dot. I invited you so we could have some fun."

Lizzy had decided to bring her young companion on the night train to Ballarat. It was meant as a treat and a fun outing together—she had also tried to tempt Fish to join, but the woman was too fastidious for her own good and claimed work to be more important.

By Lizzy's arrangement, they would be able to traveö overnight, pick up Lizzy's new car, and at the same time be out of the way for the unpacking of her new house. It sounded like a marvellous combination to her. And the girl could need an adventure. She had obviously not been allowed many treats in her life so far.

Lizzy hadn't foreseen exactly how much of an adventure it would turn out to be—that a mysterious abduction and murder would actually be committed on the train—but she was very pleased with how Dot already showed such steadfast resolve in the face of murder and mayhem. Her competence came more to the fore every day. Who knew where she could end up, this young Dorothy Williams?

Bert and Cec brought their luggage, and Lizzy sent them away to an address where she had promised them a small token of her appreciation. She smiled at what they would find there. Then she righted her clothes—she had chosen one of her favourite three-piece suits in a brown tone, completing it with a beautiful green cravat and a fedora on her head.

The train ride was nice and comfortable, and Lizzy thoroughly enjoyed bringing scandalous reading material on public transportation. She had just gotten hold of the banned novel The Well of Loneliness from a friend with excellent connections in England—she was very curious about this woman who loved women and dressed like a man, and her work in an ambulance unit in the Great War.

She soon dozed off, and in the middle of the night, her well-developed sense of smell alerted her to chloroform. The murder they found was grisly. It demanded some top-notch sleuthing in the dark, though, which she enjoyed. Running before Hugh and the other constables she teased them for not keeping up, and it was a game she liked to play—surprising men by beating them at their job. Hugh, the dear, didn't seem to mind one bit. She had quite high hopes about him being possible to form in a more modern direction. He certainly listened to her and her ideas, which proved he was rather intelligent.

When she had found the dead body for the constables, they did the hard work of cutting the poor woman down and transporting her back to the train.

"You really do see like a fox in the dark, Miss MacMillan," Hugh said to her as he walked her back to the train, the other constables carrying the body. His voice betrayed how impressed he was.

"It's a natural talent that has served me well more than once," Lizzy said. "It's remarkable how much help you can have from heightened senses."

"I wish I had natural talents," Hugh said, his voice low.

Lizzy knew he was rather new at his job, and she suspected he felt he didn't live up to the expectations.

"You do have natural talents, Hugh," she said. "You just need to train them more. You're a very attentive person, for a start." He turned a hopeful face to her in the dark. "You see a lot, you understand people. That's a very good beginning."

He was silent for a while.

"Thank you, Miss," he said. "That's the most encouraging thing anyone's ever said to me."

"You're also strong, and fast," Lizzy continued, realising she had somehow already come to mentor the poor boy. "Just see to it you use that."

Not long after, she was told they would be joined on the train by Inspector Robinson—as soon as Hugh called and he realised the case was important enough to merit his presence. She was quite pleased; she had already developed an itch from the local sergeant's lack of competence.

Lizzy joined Hugh in the compartment that had been turned into a makeshift morgue. She hadn't managed to more than start checking the body when the Inspector arrived.

"Constable Collins," he greeted his subordinate as he entered the compartment. "I hope you're not allowing civilians to tamper with a murder victim."

His voice was fastidious. Collins looked caught out and didn't manage to reply.

"You do realise this civilian actually found the body in the first place, Inspector?" Lizzy stated flatly.

She leaned back to take a good look at him as he approached. He had been something of a curmudgeon before, sending messages asking her to resist the temptation to interfere and to bandy about his name, and he didn't seem much happier now. She supposed it might have something to do with having been disturbed in the early hours of the night. As if she'd done that on purpose! Did he think she voluntary sought out the smell of chloroform while enjoying a perfectly good banned book about sapphists?

"There is nothing more for you to do, Miss MacMillan. Please, go back to your compartment," he said, trying to usher her out like he had tried in Lydia Andrew's bathroom.

Was that a move they learned in the police academy? She couldn't help wondering. He was fairly good at it, and she took a few steps away to appease him. As he started outlining his observations of the victim's injuries to his constable, Lizzy found it was time for the heavy artillery. She was after all the best chance they had at solving this case—she had been on the train, found the dead woman, and had a keen eye that extended to most details about her fellow women.

"I presume you notice there's a decided lack of jewellery, Inspector. If I were you, I'd keep an eye out for a large faceted rose quartz and gold necklace, diamond cluster earrings and several exquisite..." She made a very deliberate pause, titling her head to look at his reaction as she goaded him. "Oh, right, heading for my compartment. Goodnight, Inspector."

She counted her own steps and didn't manage more than five before he asked her to stay.

"Alright, Miss Macmillan. You win," he said, then turned to his constable with a blank face. "Take a full description of the victim's missing valuables, please, Constable."

Lizzy quirked her eyebrow and smiled. That was a pleasant surprise—that he could admit defeat, and that he could do it without too much complaint, perhaps even with a small hidden smile? Or maybe she'd just imagined that last part. Already after they had met at Lydia's she had called him 'civil', and it seemed he kept that up. She liked that in a man—it was a rare feat indeed.

If Lizzy knew anything, it was how to win people over with her resourcefulness and her sharp mind. She soon made Inspector Robinson realise how much of an asset she was, with her acute apprehension of personal relationships, knowledge of women's clothes, and pure energy in dealing with mysteries.

He even went as far as to try to make her talk sense to a child. Her! A child! The man clearly didn't know who he was dealing with.

But as she did most of the time, she decided to take the challenge head on. Little could he imagine that Lizzy after questioning Jane first would kidnap the child and the victim's daughter to bring them home, and then even opt for keeping the girl.

Jane… she had brought up so many memories for Lizzy. Of Janey, of feeling all alone in the world, and of being a girl that didn't really fit in anywhere. And above all, of needing someone to just care for her. There was no way she could just send this cheeky, energetic, slightly ruffled girl to Welfare. Dot had taken a liking to her too. They weren't that far away in age; Dot could easily have been Jane's older sister. Life had been rough to them both, although in different ways, and Lizzy took a deep pleasure in knowing she could provide them a haven at Wardlow.

Lizzy realised how much she enjoyed matching her wits with this policeman, and even more to surprise him. Probably because he didn't seem overly surprised—he didn't have that annoying tendency to disregard women by default, but listened to her as much as anyone else. There had been one moment in time, when he let her into the victim's cabin, after dryly asking about how she had managed to break the lock. She stood in the compartment door, leaning on the door frame and giving him her mind while he squatted on the floor searching for clues. Not too superior to get down on his knees and do the work, she contemplated, before pointing out the fragment of a cloth that was stuck on the windowsill. He countered by finding a trace of the shoe colour. She adored this moment, the moment of finding a first clue and knowing that she'd taken the first small step into solving a puzzle. It was a heady feeling.

She scrutinized the man as he rose from the floor. He was an adept copper and it was a joy to triumph over his annoyance, but most of all she liked the way he actually paid attention to her suggestions. When she smiled at him he answered with a self-deprecating smile of his own and it struck her—right there in that small train compartment—that she liked this man. He was decent, quick, and understated fun. He was the kind of man she could easily joke about that if she ever needed to go out and find a man to procreate with, he would be her first choice. Not that that would happen anytime soon, mind you.

If he just wasn't so damned insistent on trying to keep her out of his cases! And he did need to train his abilities to talk with children—that was obvious from his feeble attempts to question Jane.

* * *

Jack Robinson had been surprised when he was called in the early morning and told that "a Miss MacMillan" had claimed a connection to him. Soon after, as he had headed down to the stationary train and met her, he was instead exasperated. How could Miss MacMillan command him so well already? They'd only met a few times since she came to Melbourne some weeks ago, but somehow, she seemed to play him like a fiddle. And when he tried to play her, she still ended up with the upper hand. It was maddening.

At the same time, he couldn't help being impressed with her detective abilities, although he tried hard not to show it. The way she'd climbed that ladder and outrun the policemen in the dark—at least if Collin's report was to be trusted—and the way she'd immediately been able to give a description of the victim's clothes. "Ink background, peach print with an olive and red floral design" indeed.

She had kept up all through the case, providing useful assistance repeatedly. He wondered if he would ever have managed to get anything out of that young stowaway if she hadn't been there. Or how long it would have taken the local police to even find the old woman's body.

He shuddered to think of it. It seemed this case did its best to prove to him he needed to take this lady detective seriously.

The end of the case had been quick. Within just a few minutes, Jack had suffered through Miss MacMillan's sense of driving—he swore he wouldn't make that mistake again any time soon—and had been held at gunpoint, before she managed to talk them out of the situation. She was efficient and competent, and she trusted him to do his part in the stand-off; it seemed they worked well together, after such short time. Had he just thought of her as someone he worked with? It seemed he had.

Now the case was solved, the file neat and tidy on his desk at the station, and young Alaistar Herbert securely held in the cells. He thought about Miss MacMillan's grasp of the case, and her impeccable sense of timing. Somehow, she had also made him feel he would be welcome if he made an unscheduled evening visit to her house. This was the reason he now found himself outside Wardlow, the new, beautiful house he had already managed to visit twice during the case.

He felt a little self-conscious, but at the same time he looked forward to seeing her. He managed to produce a convincing knock on the door.

The amicable Mr Butler showed him into the parlour, where he found Miss MacMillan and Doctor Fisher in a laughing conversation, their easy and comfortable companionship almost making him regret his intrusion.

"Inspector," Miss MacMillan said, the curiosity in her voice making him feel slightly more at ease. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Jack nodded to them both and then turned to Miss MacMillan.

"I've had a word to Welfare. They're considering agreeing to let you foster Jane, but it'll take a few more weeks to get the final decision. They'll ask to speak to me once again in a week or two."

"Oh good," Miss MacMillan smiled. He could see she was heart-warmed by his help.

"But you're not convinced?" Doctor Fisher asked, spearing him with her intense green eyes.

Jack fidgeted a little, taking them both in as they sat there so relaxed, so confident, in the sofa next to each other. One redhaired woman, her long hair beautifully arranged to look shorter, hinting at that kind of fake bob that was so popular at the moment, sitting leisurely in lounge wear with her feet pulled up under her. The other's hair instead black and cut short, offering a modern sharp bob that matched her porcelain features perfectly, her dress flowing elegantly as she leaned back in the sofa. One of them seemingly collecting people to help, offering them space, work, and safety. The other, judging from what he'd heard of her work, always ready to help with her knowledge and scientific mind.

They were a great team, and they made a beautiful picture. Jack shook himself out of his reverie and returned to the conversation at hand.

"You do know it's not easy, looking after a kid who's been through the wringer?" he said.

Miss MacMillan caught Doctor Fisher's eye in what looked like a secret understanding—they had known each other since childhood, he remembered Miss MacMillan had mentioned, and there seemed to be a whole conversation happening between them in just a few seconds—before she answered:

"Nothing that matters is easy, Inspector."

Jack replied only with a "hm" and Doctor Fisher continued her friend's thoughts: "Lizzy is an excellent person, you know. And she has very good friends to help." Jack nodded his agreement to the statement; it was impossible to dispute. She continued: "And it could be far worse. She could be a babe in arms."

He gave a half-smile at that. Before he had a chance to answer, Miss MacMillan intercepted:

"Can I offer you a drink?"

He stalled, checking his wristwatch as if he didn't know what time it was, wondering if he was getting in too deep by spending time socially with this honourable miss and her doctor friend.

"Er..." he said, and then he made up his mind. His life really had been rather dull lately. He could do with something lightening it up, and it was only a drink, after all.

"Perhaps just the one," he said and sat down in the stool opposite them.

As he gratefully took the offered glass, Doctor Fisher prodded him a little more.

"What about babes of your own?"

"Er, no," he said, self-consciously clearing his throat.

This was not his favourite topic of conversation. They had never managed to form a family, Rosie and him, and he didn't like to dwell on it. He preferred to not have people form all kinds of opinions about him—everything from him not being man enough to beget children, to feeling pity for him for not having the happiness of small footsteps in his house. His emotions were far too complex for him to want to casually talk about it. On the other hand, he also didn't want to snub the question, since it was obviously well-meant, and asked by a person that as far as he knew didn't live a family life either. He didn't know that, of course, but he felt quite certain Doctor Fisher didn't have a family; her whole bearing exuded independence, and he was fascinated by it. He watched her eyes; they showed nothing but gentle curiosity.

"No," he continued, "we were never blessed."

The smile he gave was kind and mellow, and neither of the women pushed the line of enquiry; he was grateful to be let off the hook.

Miss MacMillan raised her glass in salute:

"To all the kids who've been through the wringer, then, Inspector Robinson." He noticed her use of his formal title.

"You might as well call me Jack," he said as he'd downed the excellent whisky in one go. "Everyone else does."

Miss MacMillan smirked.

"Very well, Jack. You may call me Lizzy," she said.

"And me, Phryne," the doctor added. "Although to be fair, hardly anyone else does."

The smile on his face was the broadest he had had for weeks; he guessed he might look like a fool, but he couldn't seem to mind. He had a feeling he would come to like these women rather a lot. Their companionship felt surprisingly comfortable and easy, and they included him without a glitch. He'd be happy, he realised, to talk to them about almost everything.

When Miss MacMillan offered him another drink, he accepted without hesitation.

* * *

 _Note to chapter 2: Radclyffe Hall's novel The Well of Loneliness, one of the iconic novels about lesbianism, was published 1928, the same year as this story takes place. I replaced Phryne's reading of Lady Chatterley's Lover with this. Hall's novel was as much of a scandal and caused legal battles; it's not sexually explicit like Lawrence's novel, but was seen as obscene because it defended "unnatural practices between women"._


	3. The Green Mill Murder

_Chapter three! Jack meets Doctor Fisher at the women's hospital. And when he is called out to the nightclub The Green Mill for a suspected murder, he is surprised by whom he finds there._

* * *

Without there being an arrangement, it seemed the sharp-witted Miss Lizzy MacMillan had become a part of his life; Jack didn't really have any say in the matter. She haphazardly turned up on his cases, or stumbled upon murders and called him in. Her knack for putting seemingly unrelated details together was astounding, but even more so was the delightfully wry banter she threw at him, making him answer in kind. He was not used to have such a skilled sparring partner. She was amusing, and clever, and Jack found he enjoyed her company, even if he actively tried to discourage some of the less lawful methods she favoured.

Jack was also not blind to the fact that his constable—the quite new and unabashedly loyal Collins—had a soft spot for her companion, the sweet Dot. He couldn't blame the lad for his taste, and it was clear the sentiment was mutual. Jack even did his best to help when they faced trouble as they were too shy and too young for their own good. He might be an old, battered, and separated policeman, but he could cherish the blossoms of young love and hope when he saw them.

Miss MacMillan's friend, Doctor Fisher, also turned up in his path. Not as often, but enough that he felt he was getting to know her a little. Just the other day, he took care of a domestic abuse victim who was lucky to have escaped with only smaller injuries, considering her husband's fury. Jack sent a constable to take the husband to the station, asked Collins to take care of the toddler, and brought the woman to the hospital himself. He didn't want to entrust her to any of the constables; she was too scared for that.

The woman leaned on him heavily as he walked her into the hospital. A young nurse met them outside the door.

"No men in the ward," she said.

"I'm not a man, I'm a detective inspector," Jack answered curtly and ignored her, entering the ward, sharply addressing the nearest white-clad back he could spot.

"Can someone help me? You?"

The person in question turned towards him and assessed the situation quickly.

"Cranston, White! Come immediately and take care of our new patient!" she demanded. "Take her to room 5."

Two nurses came and relieved Jack of his burden. He had already realised whom he'd been barking to.

"Doctor Fisher," he said, flatly.

"Inspector." Her voice was professional. "I need to check on the patient. Please don't run away and I'll come talk to you shortly."

The doctor disappeared, and Jack was shown to a corridor further off. It was the young nurse who had first tried to stop him.

"I apologise for the confusion, Inspector," she said. As they passed the main entrance she made a small gesture with her hand. "This is the reception, where you should have entered." He grunted non-committally and was finally seated in an office.

After ten minutes or so of him sitting there contemplating the room, Doctor Fisher joined him.

"Nasty cuts and bruises, a broken wrist and a black eye. But I've seen worse," was her greeting.

"Thank you, Doctor Fisher," he answered. His voice was much calmer.

"Thank you for bringing her so swiftly, although she wasn't an emergency—physically," Doctor Fisher said.

Her business-like demeanour had disappeared, and her eyes were almost soft as she studied him.

"We need tea. Then I want to know the details."

The tea was markedly better than the swill at his station, and it was just what he needed. When he'd given the doctor the necessary details, she poured him half a cup more and asked, "Lizzy's not on this case, is she?"

"No," Jack replied. "There's no mystery here, nothing that needs puzzling out. It can be handled by the mundane police."

"I see you've already worked out your roles, then." She grinned at him over her cup of tea.

"It seems we have." His answering smile was self-deprecating. "Miss MacMillan does seem to have a nose for the more glamorous and surprising cases."

"Anything else would be preposterous," the doctor said. "She also caught butcher George, though. Not one day too soon."

Jack nodded.

"We have seen a decrease of young girls coming here with damaged genitals," she continued. "That is quite remarkable."

Jack coughed at the no-nonsense way in which Doctor Fisher talked about women's body parts with him. He sized her up.

"Remarkable seems an apt description of Miss MacMillan overall," he said. "And equally of her friends."

Doctor Fisher gave him a surprised smile; Jack set down his empty cup and started to rise.

"Thank you for the tea, Doctor Fisher," he said. "My compliments to the hospital's tea; the police station has much to learn."

* * *

For all that Miss MacMillan had become part of his life, he had not expected to meet his curious colleague-of-sorts at The Green Mill, where he had been called out on one of his nightshifts. The Green Mill was a notorious nightclub, known for its musical scene as well as its unconventional patrons, some of them Bright Young Things but the majority people who were, in the lingo of the time, batting for the other team.

When Jack and Hugh made their way through the crowd to get to the murder victim, he was surprised to see none other than Doctor Phryne Fisher standing innocently by the corpse.

"Well, well. Doctor Fisher," he said, perhaps a little bit testily. What was she doing here? He gave away neither his surprise at seeing her, nor his surprise at seeing her in such a daring, sparkling dress that left—to be frank—rather little to the imagination. She was beautiful. How did she combine this kind of life with her profession? And was that _glitter_ on her eyelashes? Jack decided not to chance another look, in case he would come off as staring.

"Nice to see you too, Jack," she said, her tone slightly sarcastic.

"And a murder, no less," Jack said, picking up his humorous angle and cocking an eyebrow. "I presume Miss MacMillan is on the premise too?"

Doctor Fisher didn't answer, she just made a little shrug and turned to the corpse.

"His name's Leonard Stevens and he appears to have been stabbed."

"Do we know by whom?"

"We were all dancing and he just collapsed mid-song," Doctor Fisher said. Jack got an image in his head of Doctor Fisher dancing in that almost non-existing dress and decided not to dwell on it.

"Do we have a murder weapon?" he asked instead.

"No, but rather a suspicious lot of cash to be carrying around, don't you think?"

The last comment was uttered by Miss MacMillan, who'd disentangled from the crowd to meet him, holding out a large roll of pound notes to him, her eyes having a more pointed look of challenge than usual.

Jack was still—stunned, simply looking at her. She was dressed in a black tux, cut to bring out the very best of her features, and a crispy white shirt. He wasn't sure he'd even seen a woman in a tux before, but she was absolutely stunning. It took his brain a few moments to register what this must likely mean—Miss MacMillan dressed like this, in a club like this, with a defiant look on her face. Miss MacMillan must be one of those batting for the other team.

 _How had he not realised this earlier?_ Come to think of it, she had been dressed in a suit more than once during their acquaintance, and she did sport a fedora even better than he did himself. He swallowed at the thought. Even if society didn't treat it as harshly in women as in men—there was no prison punishment for female homosexuality, for example—it was still scandalous. It made her position much more precarious than he'd realised.

Jack cast a quick glance at Doctor Fisher, wondering if her presence meant she too was uninterested in men—he was surprised at himself for having an opinion at all on the matter, but the thought came unbidden. Would she and Miss MacMillan perhaps even be… no, he stopped himself. There was no need to be carried away. He knew the rumours about Doctor Fisher and they went in an entirely other direction. Not that that direction strictly speaking was that much more comforting. And he certainly shouldn't be thinking about this kind of things right now, in front of a corpse.

Miss MacMillan looked at him, jaw set, only a slightly nervous tinge to her bearings. She was likely waiting for him to be scandalised, perhaps even disgusted.

Jack swallowed again, his heart beating as he looked Miss MacMillan steadily into the eyes. Then he resolutely went back to the conversation they were having. His face turned into a frown.

"You went through his pockets? I have a mind to charge you with interference. I could easily clap you in irons, the both of you."

Miss MacMillan was silent for a heartbeat, processing that this was what he directed his censure at. He didn't seem to scoff at her apparition, or her life choices. Slowly, a delighted smile lit up her face and she tilted her head.

"Oh, come on, Jack," she said, light-heartedly. "Fish checked if he was dead and we secured the crime scene for you."

He reluctantly agreed they had done well, before he started to issue commands at his poor constable, not showing any mercy whatsoever as he ordered him to body search all the ladies. Miss MacMillan and Doctor Fisher trying to persuade him otherwise had no effect. The lad could do with the learning experience.

* * *

The next day, Jack intercepted Miss MacMillan in the middle of a break-in. He was driving together with Constable Collins to the victim's flat when they saw a suspicious dark-clad figure disappear into a window on the second floor.

"Is that…?" Collins asked, and Jack could only answer yes. Yes, it was.

It turned out Miss MacMillan was not alone, Bobby Sullivan was also in the flat. Along with some very incriminating photographs.

"Turning to break and enter, are we, Miss MacMillan?" he asked dryly.

"I'm quite sure I didn't break anything, Inspector," she answered. "The window was already open. I had no idea the constabulary were so hot on my heels, or I might have saved myself from endangering the integrity of my clothes."

She dusted herself as if there was one millimetre that wasn't perfectly in order.

"What are you doing here, Miss MacMillan?" Jack asked sternly—he had a hard time not showing how amused he was by her audacity.

"I think you'd better ask Bobby. I just followed him in."

Jack managed to get hold of the incriminating photographs Bobby Sullivan had been attempting to hide. Watching them, Collins' eyes turned round as plates. That was, Jack contemplated, not that unusual.

He brought Miss MacMillan with him to the station, intent on teaching her a lesson about breaking the law. He didn't have much success. As soon as they were there she telephoned Miss Williams, who came bringing a basket of food from Mr Butler. The cheek of this woman!

It wasn't long before he found her in the position of trying to bribe him with delicious food. She was sitting in his visitor's chair on the other side of his desk, leaning back and eyeing the several bowls of food standing on his desk, challenging him to resist their heavenly smell. It was a rather unusual reaction to having been caught red-handed at a break-in.

What had become of his life, Jack couldn't help wondering. How had these kinds of things started to seem normal?

"You're not taking the situation seriously," he complained.

"I haven't taken anything seriously since 1918," Miss MacMillan answered. "It seems to be the best way to tackle this world."

He could see that, how her actions were a reaction to the war, to the horrors and the meaninglessness on the front. He knew the feeling. She just happened to have taken the exact opposite stand as he had, instead burying himself in work and duty and a world where there were rules, goddamn it. As he eyed her, he had to admit she seemed to have made the better deal.

"You're more like Fish," Miss MacMillan continued. "Deadly serious when you work. But when she's off the clock, she's as flippant as me."

"Doctor Fisher?" he asked, remembering the see-through dress at the club that had surprised him so. "Were you together during the war?"

"We were, at least in the beginning. I was driving the ambulance, she was an acting doctor, although she hadn't finished her degree yet. It was a hard time."

Jack nodded. He could picture them in his mind—fighting bitterly to save the young soldiers' lives, or at least give them a modicum of comfort as they died from their injuries. He had been there; he had seen this too. He remembered how the nurses at the field hospital had felt like angels incarnate, and he could easily see Miss MacMillan shoulder that role, with grim determination, her hands as steady as her eyes. She really was an impressive woman.

Jack did eat the gratin in the end, and he did allow Miss MacMillan to look through the photographs Leonard Steven had used for blackmailing her friend.

"Did you know Charles was a homosexual?" he asked, biting his tongue immediately for the probably stupid question, considering Miss MacMillan's own inclinations.

"Of course," she said, simply.

She waited to see where he would go with that line of inquiry, but he turned it to the case instead, deliberating on Charles' possible motive for murder.

* * *

Hugh Collins didn't know how to tell his lovely Dot about what he'd seen in those photographs at Leonard Stevens' house. He was sure she would find it sinful to even have laid eyes on such a thing, and he was frightened about what her reaction would be when she found out about Miss MacMillan's friend. He had, after all, just found out Dot was Catholic, and he had some vague notions of eternal damnation of one's soul, which sounded rather scary. He still felt he needed to share it with her, especially as Charles Freeman very well might turn up at her house and surprise her with it. As might Bobby Sullivan.

They were walking by the St Kilda beach, a kind of walk that had already become a habit of theirs. It was a wonderful way to have a few moments by themselves. Exchanging sweet talk and caresses, or clues and thoughts about their bosses, without anyone else around.

"Dot," he said a little hesitantly. "I have something I need to tell you."

His serious voice made Dot stop to face him. Her open expression told him she was listening.

"Do you… Have you… Er, you know…" This did not come easy to Hugh, and he blushed deeply.

"What is it Hugh?" Dot asked, a little concerned now.

"Er… I hope this isn't to much for you, but… you know Mr Freeman is a homosexual, don't you?" He looked questioningly at her, trying to suss out if he'd overstepped or if she would be shocked. "I hope that doesn't make it hard for you. To combine your work with your… faith." He blushed again.

"Mr Freeman is a homosexual?" Dot repeated flatly.

"Yes. He has a male lover and everything. I've seen it with my own eyes." He blushed a third time. "Because there was photographic evidence, nothing else," he added meekly.

"Oh Hugh, what do you think about my Miss?"

"What do you mean, what I think about Miss MacMillan?" He paused to think. "I think she's one of the cleverest women I've ever met. I think she's even cleverer than the Inspector—but you mustn't ever tell him I said that! And even when she makes fun of me, she's still always kind."

Dot smiled and took his arm, pushing him to continue their stroll.

"That's not what I meant, Hugh. You do realise Miss MacMillan is a homosexual too, don't you?"

His alarmed look told her that he had not realised.

"I don't mind, Hugh. You know she's the best employer a girl could ever have." Dot squeezed his arm. "And yes, she is the cleverest woman I've met too. That other part is just a tiny detail I'm never going to tell Father Grogan."

They kept on walking. After a companionable silence while they watched the waves, Hugh asked about her preparations for the Firemen and Policemen's Ball.

* * *

In the end, the case was filled with multiple tragedies. Nerine, the singer, having been blackmailed for bigamy, and her husband now going to be hanged for killing the blackmailer. More tragedies were being unfolded in the wake of this one; Stevens had been a nasty sort of bloke. Jack pondered Miss MacMillan, who had so gracefully showed him her own inclinations. He hoped she knew he would not hold them against her, and his heart clenched at the thought of what she must have gone through in her life because of them. And now she wanted to foster a child that was in need of her protection, and the state might not let her. There was so much more depth to her than he could have imagined when he first set eyes on her in that bathroom, all those weeks ago.

A thought hit him. Perhaps there were one or two happy endings he could help out with, after all.

When he arrived at Wardlow, he met Collins and Miss Williams on the path outside, heading for the Firemen and Policemen's Ball—a social event he had made sure not to attend the last several years. Without a wife by his side it had lost the attraction for him. Collins looked slightly surprised to see him, but he waved them off with well-wishes for the evening and they scurried along.

Mr Butler greeted him at the door and led him to the parlour. He disturbed Miss MacMillan and Doctor Fisher in a conversation. He thought he heard Miss MacMillan say "…what will happen with Jane now? She's so set on staying here." And Doctor Fisher's voice answering "I worry about Charles too. Dear God, what if I have to marry him to help him out?"

As he entered, they both fell silent and turned to the newcomer.

"Jack!" Miss MacMillan said, her eyes lightening up at his entrance.

"Miss MacMillan. Doctor Fisher." He nodded in their general direction.

"Do you have a present for me?" Miss MacMillan teased him, nodding towards the package in his hand with a mischievous smile.

"I believe I have two," Jack answered, flicking his gaze between the two women. "I spoke to welfare again today, and they will let you foster Jane."

Miss MacMillan caught his eyes, surprised.

"I thought that was out of the question, now that you know my… inclinations?" she asked.

Jack looked at her, his face very still.

"I assured them you would make an excellent and proper guardian," he said.

Doctor Fisher saw her friend was slightly stunned by this and stepped in to help.

"That is… very generous of you, Inspector," she said, again having that assessing look on her features.

"There is nothing generous about it. I only spoke the truth," Jack answered, challenging her back with a gaze. Then he turned to Miss MacMillan with a smile. "I might have been forced to also call you a respectable spinster."

She smiled brightly at that.

"Also, this is for you." He held up the package in brown paper and string and Miss MacMillan took it.

"The plates! Charles' photographs," she said, after a quick look inside.

"I found them underneath the floorboards of Leonard Stevens' apartment."

"And what do you want us to do with them?" she asked, her eyes a mixture of kindness and challenge.

"Have them incinerated."

"I thought your hands were tied," Miss MacMillan said.

"Well, they might be," he replied. "But clearly, yours are not."

They smiled in agreement, the relief in her eyes clear. Jack's chest bloomed in joy when he saw how happy his news made her.

"I can't see there should be any reasons for a charity marriage," he said, flicking his eyes towards Doctor Fisher again.

"You heard that?" she said, surprise all over her features, and he realised he'd said too much.

"I... I was…" He cleared his throat and looked uncertain, not knowing how to proceed.

"No matter, Inspector," Doctor Fisher said, smiling wryly at him while she filled and handed him a glass. "I appreciate the sentiment."


	4. Raisins and Almonds

_Thank you kind people who have left a review, I really appreciate it! I'm happy to hear there are a few readers out there for this alternate take on the story!_

 _Lizzy is solving a case with science involved. Of course she has to ask her Doctor friend for help. Over the science experiment, and as he gives her a lift home, Phryne and Jack are getting to know each other better._

* * *

It seemed to Phryne her life had taken on a kind of habit again—despite Lizzy being back in it. The difference was that her habits outside work now were more fun, and included the impossibility to anticipate what would happen next. She only knew that every other week something unusual, engaging, probably dangerous, and sometimes not strictly legal was going to happen.

After the case at The Green Mill, they had a delightful nightcap at Lizzy's when—out of the blue—Inspector Robinson joined them. He seemed to have been in Lizzy's orbit as of late, and Phryne tilted her head at her friend, wondering if his was how it was going to be now—that a policeman might barge into their Wardlow evenings at any time. She supposed he was interesting enough to let it pass.

"Miss MacMillan. Doctor Fisher," he said and nodded to them in greeting.

The Inspector had great news, telling Lizzy how he'd secured both her guardianship of Jane and a way to free Charles from his impending doom. He had watched her as he'd said that, and Phryne felt something stir in her gut. The way he seemed to care about Lizzy and also, somehow—though she wasn't sure exactly why—about her.

He was quite handsome, she decided. There was an openness in his features that was very attractive. Then she stopped herself—this was Lizzy's colleague, not a man to seduce at her leisure. But when he commented on her fear of having to marry Charles that he had overheard, she couldn't help being curious about him anyway. It wasn't her fault, was it, when he showed an interest for her marrying habits?

"I appreciate the sentiment," she told him, and she was quite sure he blushed at that. She had always found blushing men a delight. She adored the sincerity it showed.

She gave him a drink and he sat down to join them in celebrating the closure of the case.

"How did you become a doctor, Doctor Fisher?" Jack asked a little later.

"I studied in England," she answered. "Before the war, and then I finished after. That's where I picked up the accent. I find it helps me receive more respect in my work, too."

Jack smiled at her answer; it wasn't that far from his own thinking. He had left his working-class accent when he'd started the police academy, and then even more when he'd met Rosie and tried to match her aspirations. He had consciously chosen to reinvent himself as a calm, trustworthy policeman; by now it was second nature.

"It was a long journey," Lizzy added. "I'm happy I got to be part of it." She turned to Jack. "We were at the same time in France. I don't know how we would have survived otherwise."

"It wasn't something my parents approved of, or anyone else I knew for that matter," Doctor Fisher continued. "Except for our teacher, of course. Good old Miss Charlesworth. She was a real encouragement, and she made the other teachers support the idea too."

"And Fish is incredibly bloody-minded," Lizzy added. "Of course, the family was equally distraught when she didn't care for either doting on a husband or bringing new, smaller Fishes into the world."

Phryne looked chastising at her, wishing she wouldn't talk so freely about her to this man she didn't really know that well, but it was already too late. She rolled her eyes instead.

"You can't live your life to please others," she said and rose to pour herself a new drink, offering to pour one for Jack too. "Whatever you do, they will not be satisfied, and you will not be happy."

Jack nodded. He looked like he wished someone had told him that years ago, Phryne thought. When he met her eyes, she felt herself go slightly warm under his intense and admiring look. She smiled at him. Yes, he was a handsome man.

Phryne enjoyed love and attraction, but she preferred to keep them away from her deeper emotions. She had decided to view it all scientifically—viewing attraction as chemicals in the body, or chemicals flowing between bodies, or as the mechanics of anatomy. Her scientific interest in the human body simply extended also to the joy of appreciating the living, male, aesthetically pleasing body.

She went dancing and she invited men home, but only men that knew there was no long-term commitment to be found—men who confidently played the game with her and then went on their merry way without complaint. She appreciated the passing connection, somehow seeming to be more real, more truthful, because it was temporary.

"He is handsome enough, isn't he, Fish?" Lizzy asked when the Inspector had gone home, and the two of them were lounging in the parlour, sipping a drink each and being pleasantly tipsy.

"He is," Phryne answered, "and I like the way he treats people when he's on the job. But isn't he far too serious for his own good?"

"He's like an upright pillar of righteousness and rules," Lizzy said. "Not really your type at all, I'm afraid."

Phryne frowned at her statement, which made Lizzy smile brightly; she might need to keep an eye out for this.

There was something about the inspector that worried Phryne slightly. She couldn't place him. She had first taken him for a stickler to the rules, but his humour and open mindedness had come rather quickly to the fore. His loyalty to Lizzy was palpable. It was a joy to see him interact with her friend. More surprisingly, it was also a joy to interact with him all by herself. He showed a genuine interest—and more for her work and her thoughts than for her appearance. He hadn't so much as batted an eyelid at what he found in The Green Mill. And then he had been a character witness for Lizzy becoming a guardian to Jane. There really was more to the man than the surface showed.

"Anyway, did you know he's married?" Lizzy continued.

"Why wouldn't he be?" Phryne said, but she didn't manage to keep out a slightly surprised note in her voice. He didn't act like a married man, she couldn't help thinking—not even like an unhappily married one. He rather piqued her interest.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, Lizzy asked Phryne to help her out in an investigation with scientific inclinations—how could she decline? To be honest, she almost never said no to Lizzy. She loved to see her friend, and she loved to complement Lizzy's intuition with her own more scientific-minded approach. To her surprise, the same sentiment about Lizzy MacMillan seemed to fit also the dogged Inspector.

Lizzy was in the middle of a case of poisoning and looked very determined when she finally managed to track Phryne down to the lounge of the Adventuresses' Club. Phryne was having coffee in all tranquillity, reading the newspaper, and exchanging a few words with Minnie, the server, whenever she passed by. Despite the name of the club, it had been a calm and soothing late afternoon—until Lizzy barged in, throwing her fedora on the sofa.

"Finally! I have looked for you everywhere!"

Phryne tilted her head, rather sure that "everywhere" meant telephoning the hospital and perhaps also her home once.

"Well, you found me. Did anything remarkable happen?"

"I have an urgent need of a scientist, Fish. It's for my case with the poisoning—you know, in the book store."

Phryne nodded. Lizzy had briefed her about it the other day.

"It seems we need to try out a chemical formula in Ancient Hebrew!"

"Of course." Phryne's eyes rolled so hard they were hardly visible.

"I don't mean you need to decipher it, Fish." Lizzy tilted her head playfully. "Strictly speaking, the Hebrew was only a clue to find the formula. Jack has been remarkably helpful in this case. He even recognised the chemical symbols for lead and gold."

"Astounding," Phryne said dryly. That wasn't precisely on the level to impress a scientist.

"He was also awestruck with my precise knowledge of the symptoms of wolfsbane," Lizzy said, which made Phryne regard her rather fondly. She had helped her friend with that information only yesterday; it had already come to use, then. Lizzy's enthusiasm for challenges and for barging ahead into any and every subject that came before her was one of the things Phryne loved most about her.

"Also," Lizzy said, looking knowing and mysterious, "there is a delectable man that might be interested in your company—if you play your cards right."

Phryne stilled and looked at her friend with slightly enlarged eyes.

"Are you talking about the Inspector?"

There was a split second without movement before Lizzy sported an enormous grin.

"I was taking about young Mr Abrahams," she said. Then she narrowed her eyes and challenged her friend. "Should I have been talking about the Inspector?"

"What? No!" Phryne answered; Lizzy did not look convinced. "No. Of course not. That's why I was so surprised."

Phryne found this an excellent time to take a deep sip of her already cold coffee. Lizzy's look was far too curious, and she knew her friend would now take every chance to see what was happening between her two friends, the Doctor and the Inspector. The thought made Phryne shudder slightly. It wasn't like anything was happening. They were friends, even if it was more through Lizzy than on their own merits.

"I heard you meet up at the hospital now and then," Lizzy said, checking her friend. "Over cases."

"It's the simple ones," Phryne answered. "Where there are victims but no mystery to engage your mind. Still important, but not hard."

"An interesting way to meet men, at the women's hospital," Lizzy mused.

Phryne laughed; that was some top-notch prodding from her curious friend. Yes, she was definitely going to get teased over her reaction to Lizzy's 'delectable man' in the future.

Sure, she found him handsome, and she wasn't here to apologize for that. She might have thought about him a little bit more than she usually did about men she met—his seriousness contrasted so well to her other men's youthful playfulness, but it was a seriousness that could still bloom out in humour. Alright, maybe she was a little bit smitten by him, but only insofar as she wouldn't exactly mind having him in her bed for a night or two; there was nothing more serious going on. She stopped herself and bluntly turned back to the case.

"So, you need a scientist? When?"

"Tonight."

"Of course it's tonight; how could I even be surprised?"

Lizzy looked at her, her smile teasing.

"You don't have to worry, Fish. The Inspector will be there and protect all our virtues."

Then she rose and picked up her fedora.

"See you tonight then. I'll pick you up at ten."

In a flourish, Lizzy was gone. It took Phryne some moments before she again turned back to the newspaper. She waved for Minnie to order another coffee. It seemed this would become a very long day.

* * *

"Where are we exactly?" Phryne asked as they entered the room—it was a place where someone had lived, but it looked more like a laboratory, the full chemical set on a table obviously used for the dead man's experiments. Experiments they were now going to try to replicate.

"This is Saul's lodgings," Lizzy answered. "He had a real interest in chemistry."

"You don't say," Phryne retorted as she started to unpack the different substances she had carried with her, pronouncing their names while putting them in front of her. "I've got some butadiene, styrene, potassium persulphate and mercaptan."

Lizzy's eyes glowed.

"I knew I could count on you, Fish!"

"I'm only here because I was born with the type of inquiring mind that often gets me into trouble," Phryne retorted dryly. Then she turned to Jack, standing at the edge of the table. "What's your excuse, Inspector?"

He looked at her for a moment.

"I thought I was solving a murder, but I'll settle for gold if that's what we come up with."

He ended his comment with a smile and a tilt of his head—that habit he had when he was thinking, and that he exaggerated every time he was going in for a joke. How do I already know his body language? Phryne thought. She stared at him for a moment too long, which made him look curiously at her. She produced a non-committed smile and turned to her experiment again.

The night grew later as she followed the instructions and poured fluids and substances into the flasks, watching the mixture boil and change colour.

Jack stood at the side, mesmerized—not as much with the spectacle, as with the woman producing it. He had seen Doctor Fisher working before, at the hospital, but this was the first time he'd been allowed to watch her for a longer period of time. This was her world—the world of science, and precision, and meticulous actions. He watched her delicate hand as it took some powder and sprinkled it into a test tube, then placing it over the small fire again. It was like a dance—a dance of small, measured movements, bringing out the colourfulness of the world.

It struck him that this was exactly what she had been doing at The Green Mill too, only with larger movements and more startling clothes. And just as she mastered this chemistry, it seemed she mastered the chemistry between the sexes too. At least if he was to believe the rumours he'd heard about her way of life.

She was so single-mindedly focused on what she was doing. Perhaps that was why she needed the distractions of dancing; to not put her whole life into science? And she didn't seem to care a jot about conventionality. He admired that.

Jack turned around to see where Miss MacMillan had gone, only to catch her watching him with a curious expression in her eyes. He wondered for how long she'd been sitting in the sofa, scrutinizing him, and how much his face had given away. She seemed to see right through him and sometimes it was a bit disconcerting.

"Miss MacMillan," he said, tilting his head. "Are you not planning on contributing to the experiment?"

She sent him a knowing smile and rose to come and stand beside him, leaning against the table.

"Of course I am, Jack."

Phryne held up the flask with its green liquid.

"It doesn't seem to work," she said, clearly disappointed. It was the first thing she had said for quite some time and she had to clear her throat.

Lizzy grabbed the formula again and frowned at it.

"It's written in Hebrew, from the right to the left. What if you would do it again, but in the opposite order?"

Phryne stared at her, struck dumb. Then she let out a sigh. She turned to pour away all her liquids and start over again.

Lizzy let her do the experiment in her own time, turning to Jack to ask him of his views on Miss Leigh and her reticence. She had found Miss Leigh in some way rather similar to the Inspector himself. Their conversation turned lively, as they sought to beat each other in ideas about what might have happened in the book store. After a while, Lizzy excused herself to go to the bathroom and Phryne and Jack were left alone. Phryne looked up from her table to see the Inspector leaning on the table and gazing at her. Something in his look made her stomach flutter.

"Tired, Inspector?" she asked him, opting for teasing. He tilted his head again. It made him look a little bit like a kelpie, she thought.

"I'm amazed you are not, Doctor Fisher," he answered.

"Can't be tired when on duty, Jack," she said, moving to grab a large bag from the floor, and the way she pronounced his name made him a tiny bit weak in his knees.

"Let me help you with that bag, Doctor Fisher," he said and moved closer to her. She gave him a piercing look and he continued before she had a chance to say anything. "I know you don't need the help. Just let me do something, please?"

"Had too much of Lizzy's stubbornness for one day, have you?" Phryne smiled, and handed him the bag for opening.

"Too much of me? However would that be possible?" Lizzy quipped as she stepped back into the room.

"Impossible, I'm sure, darling," Phryne said.

"Well, there was the case of running on rooftops and getting shot at, Miss MacMillan," Jack said, amused, handing back the opened bag to Phryne.

"He didn't hit me," she retorted lightly. "I had a much better aim with my knife."

Phryne glanced up at her friend, narrowing her eyes at her before she gave up, visibly resigning herself and returning to her task.

The rest of the evening, Lizzy stood next to Phryne and talked to keep up her spirits. Jack had retreated to the sofa, and a small snore told them he was not keeping up. When they were done, Lizzy had to wake him and urge him to look at the result. It was a success—Phryne had not created gold, but rubber instead, and this meant they had one more important piece of their puzzle.

* * *

It was already early morning when they'd managed to pack everything up and leave the lodging. On the pavement outside the house, Miss MacMillan stopped and turned to Jack, asking if he would be so kind as to drive the doctor home. They did after all live much closer to each other than she did to Fish, and she was feeling very tired. She made it sound almost entirely reasonable and innocent.

"Of course," Jack answered, the early hour not taking away any of his gentlemanly behaviour.

Lizzy jumped into her Hispano-Suiza and waved at the two of them. The car was already rolling before Jack managed his farewell:

"See you tomorrow, then, Miss MacMillan."

He felt a little apprehensive about being alone with Doctor Fisher. That didn't make sense; he had never felt that as a problem before. But there had been some kind of shift between them this night, hadn't there—a night together over the small fire of a chemistry experiment, closeness becoming highlighted in the dark? But he was a seasoned Inspector, he couldn't be nervous about being alone with a colleague? Even if she had the most piercing gaze and always seemed about to challenge him, it still didn't make sense. It must have been the cold from a long night.

He opened the door on the passenger side for her and then took the driver's seat. They were quiet as he drove, his eyes flicking towards her a couple of times. It was the doctor who broke the silence.

"I never thanked you properly for your help with letting Lizzy foster Jane."

"There's no need to thank me," he replied.

"You do know there's more to it than just a sudden wish to take in a girl, don't you?"

Doctor Fisher spoke tentatively, as if she was a little uncertain of trusting him with this knowledge.

"Do you mean… Miss MacMillan's sister?" he asked.

"So, you do know. Did you by any chance look her up when she stumbled into your first case?"

He turned a tiny bit pink under her steady gaze and found a need to defend himself.

"Normal policeman paranoia. She could have been a suspect or an auxiliary to crime."

When he glanced at Doctor Fisher he saw a wry smile on her face; there was a responding small tug at his lips.

"Of course," she said. "No personal curiosity at all, I am sure." She rolled her eyes in that way he found rather captivating, and then she turned serious. "So, you know her story. Janey was never found. Lizzy would accuse me of having read too much Freud if she heard me, but I believe fostering Jane can be a kind of healing for her."

Jack nodded non-committedly. Psychoanalysis wasn't really his thing, he found it too close to superstition, but it sounded reasonable. It also made him pleased to think he had make a small contribution to that outcome.

"That was a fine thing to do," Doctor Fisher mused. Then she turned in her seat to look at him more properly. "What did you find out about me?"

Jack coughed at the sudden question.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he protested.

"Come on, Inspector. I know how coppers work. And you're one of the most attentive I've met."

He felt whiplashed by the accusation and the way it was combined with a genuine compliment. He was just reaching the doctor's street, so he pulled up outside her house and cut the engine. Then he turned towards her, to properly see the impact of his words.

"I found out that you are a very brave woman," he said, tentatively. When she looked at him seriously, with barely a smile on her lips, he dared to go on. "Championing the poor, the women, and the workers. You work in the women's hospital, but you also teach at the university and regularly spread knowledge about family planning that not everyone thinks the poor should be allowed to have; presumably to keep them in poverty."

He paused briefly, wondering whether his information-gathering had offended her. She seemed pleased with his statement, though, an indication of similar morals. He doubted she had many allies in her mission, Miss MacMillan aside. Then her face turned blank.

"But you also know I live a less morally upright life in my free time?" Her question was half serious, half self-deprecating.

Jack swallowed. "I may have… gotten some inclination," he confessed.

She looked him up and down, assessing him. "You really aren't one to judge other people, are you, Inspector Robinson?"

He understood that as the compliment it was and smiled.

"It's murder I'm interested in, not morality."

He opened his door and went out to open hers. As she stepped out of the car she came to stand excruciatingly close to him, smiling while she looked up into his eyes through her lashes. He was quite sure she was testing him, like a skater would the ice before heading out. He wasn't used to have this kind of serious, heavily loaded conversations with women; well, bar Miss MacMillan, but that was a rather recent addition to his life. She swayed a little towards him, visibly flicking her gaze between his eyes and his lips.

"You're quite a remarkable man, Jack," she said, quietly, but there was still a small undercurrent of challenge in her voice. He was struck with how easy it would be to reach out and touch that pale cheek of hers, and the strand of hair that so visibly accentuated her lips, tempting him to kiss them. He realised she probably wouldn't say no if he did.

They were silent for a heartbeat before he replied, his voice slightly rougher than usual.

"Thank you for a delightful evening, Doctor Fisher." He realised he was looking at her lips now—the red of her lipstick slightly faded from the long night, but that fact taking away nothing of her allure. He took a step back and nodded. "I'm sure we both have early mornings tomorrow. Sleep well."

With that, he entered his car again and lit the ignition. When he drove away, she gave a little wave with her hand before entering her building.


	5. Ruddy Gore

_It is time for the theatre! There is a murder, a ghost hunt, and threats to Lizzy's life. When Lizzy needs to find out how a ghost can be created, she brings Doctor Fisher to the theatre. Jack has a sudden urge to recite Shakespeare to her. And not only Jack, but also Lizzy meets an entrancing woman._

 _Thank you to everyone who took their time to write a review - it makes me very happy to hear you are enjoying this story. Thank you! Also, I got a question why there was no chapter on "Death at Victoria Docks". I have skipped a few of the epsiodes and only make short references to them, and that was one of them._

 _Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

As she was lying in bed, enjoying a leisurely morning in her lush bedroom, Lizzy considered the months she had been back in Melbourne. It was going quite well, her Melbourne life. She felt more at home here than she ever had in London. She loved the city and its pulse; she had her close friends and her many acquaintances; and she had her work that provided so much intrigue and possibilities.

She loved going out dancing with Fish one night and staying in pondering uncooperative evidence the other—and then having Jack over for a nightcap the third. It was a combination of routine and thrill that fit her to a tee. She arranged dance lessons for Dot to make her a lady of the world; she dealt with Jane's troubles in school; she went to the docks with Cec and Bert to spy on some cargo. Not two days were alike. Yes, her return to Melbourne was one of her better ideas, and she'd had many.

There was the Inspector, and their easy collaboration that made working cases with him a delight.

She had gotten to know his quirks rather well, recognising the small facial expressions that told her he was astonished by her mind's quick workings, or that he had a trumph card up his sleeve. He bantered with her over evidence and surprising developments in their cases, showing a lightness she suspected he usually tried to cover up. It was a joy to try to throw him, and to now and then be the one outsmarted.

Lizzy loved watching him as he realised she had managed to uncover something important. The way his eyes met hers with a quirked eyebrow or a sarcastic question, and the way he was always ready to continue where she left off her trail of thoughts. Like when she manoeuvred the books in the bookshop, showing him how to find evidence in their spines. Or when she cracked the riddle of the Green Mill murder, showing him how the cornet player had used his instrument as a weapon.

"I don't know who has the more fanciful imagination," Jack had said, exasperated. "Rogers for coming up with it, or you for working it out."

But Lizzy had no doubt about that answer. It was her, obviously. She could see that he silently agreed.

He was also impressed by her for not being content with the easy answers—like when she first found compromising details about Miss Leigh, the bookshop owner, just to then take on the case of proving her innocent. Not settling for a too easy explanation, never going in for a lazy arrest; that was what made them so firmly on the same team. They were in it for justice, even if it would take more work to prove it. And they were in it for the challenge—he constantly made her step up her game to solve the mysteries, and she surely sped up his work, challenging him to move quicker, consider more possibilities. It was like a game of tennis, and he was an excellent partner.

Even when he was angry with her for taking too great risks, he was still rather delightful to banter with. He had not been happy when she was almost shot by Latvian anarchists outside her own home; he had been there and resolutely shuffled her behind a bench. When he stood in her parlour later, he was like an indignant pillar of righteousness by her window.

As she examined her trousers to see what damage they had taken from her fall, she told him she was only giving him a helping hand. He didn't accept her flippancy.

"At this stage," he said, "the only benefit of your helping hand is that I might have a walk-up start when it comes to investigating your eventual murder."

She rolled her eyes. The man surely had a protective streak in him, and it made her equally touched and annoyed. But she did allow his stubbornness to win for once, as she promised to not pursue the Latvians anymore. That only held up for a while, of course—she couldn't keep away from a case when it obviously needed her.

He also complained about her habit of making Hugh Collins do her bidding—but she was prepared to defend that action anytime. That was a clear example of a situation they all benefited from, and it had definitely helped the case. In the end, Jack had even allowed Hugh to take the credit for their victory over the bank robbers.

Well, Lizzy thought as she reluctantly left her warm bed to face the day, that was enough thoughts about the Victorian constabulary for the moment. She went to the bathroom to splash her face, and then eyed her wardrobe to choose the suit and cravat of the day. As she fingered the fabrics, she thought about Fish. She sometimes wished she was a little bit more like her—content with sporadic lovers. She didn't mind them, she relished them when she found them, but she knew herself; she was more inclined to something steady. There was no woman lately that had taken her fancy for more than a night or two, and she hadn't really found anyone since her tango partner Ellie de Lisse. How easy it would be if she wanted men instead, she pondered. They were everywhere! Although, considering Fish, she wasn't certain it was always that simple; you had to have a nose for separating the good from the bad eggs, and not let the latter come anywhere near you. And on top of it all, there was such a shortage of men nowadays, after the devastating effects of the war.

No, she was quite pleased she wasn't on that team.

* * *

The day was pleasant and lighthearted. It was Dot's birthday, and she spent the whole day treating her. First with a day on town and luxurious High Tea at the Windsor, which took Dot's breath away. Then, in the evening, they went to the theatre to see a play with Dot's favourite actor. Dot's happiness told her it was a perfect choice.

Lizzy left Dot to admire the posters outside and went in to greet her old friend Bart Tarrant. As she entered the theatre, there was a woman talking to Bart. Somehow, she already from behind seemed energetic—almost magnetic. Her body slender, her hair flowing dark, her dress colourful. There was something about the way she moved that touched Lizzy immediately. As she turned around to meet Lizzy's eyes, she saw the woman was Chinese, and that Bart was thanking her, again and again.

"Lizzy! Come here!" Bart said as he caught sight of her. "Lizzy, darling, you look stunning. How lovely of you to come."

He turned to his other guest.

"Miss Elizabeth MacMillan, may I present Mrs Camellia Lin. She was kind enough to come to the aid of our leading man, who was set upon by thugs outside the theatre."

That was a surprising statement for a woman who looked so delicate in her silk dress.

"I'm sure anyone would've done the same," she said politely. A tiny smile grazed her lips as she took in the stunning redhaired woman in a well-cut dark grey suit. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss MacMillan."

"Mrs Lin."

They shook hands. Her hand was soft and strong, and felt electric to Lizzy. It may also have lingered a little longer than strictly necessary in hers. Reluctantly breaking eye contact with Lizzy, Camellia told Bart to call her if he needed her assistance again, and politely left.

Lizzy was intrigued. Mrs Lin was obviously married, but at the same time she hadn't met a woman that gave her such a spark for a very long time—her hand still tingled from the touch. Mrs Lin's eyes held a curiosity Lizzy would have loved to learn more about. Well, she concluded as she turned her mind towards her old friend Bart, that Mr Lin was a lucky man indeed.

As Bart showed Lizzy around, she felt enlivened to again be in a theatre. She loved the smells, the mechanics backstage, all the possibilities of make-believe that could happen on stage. She had dabbled a little in the art, both in France and in England. It turned out Bart hadn't only invited her for the play ; he also wanted to hire her. To catch a ghost at first, but soon there was a murder added to that, as the leading man dropped dead in the middle of the first act.

Lizzy's curiosity of Mrs Lin only increased when she left the theatre. For once she was doing what Jack told her when he asked her to leave; she found she couldn't resist him too much when she had Dot to take care of too. As the two of them walked down the lane, they stepped right into a fight between Camellia and several thugs. How on earth did a woman like Mrs Lin end up in a fight like that? No matter, of course Lizzy had to help out. Camellia was a stunningly competent fighter, moving like a dancer, and with Lizzy's help and a well-placed thrown axe, she managed to send the thugs running.

When they were alone, they sized each other up. Camellia's chest was heaving with exertion, but Lizzy couldn't see as much as a tear or a stain on her clothes—the beautiful red silk dress had been complemented by a divine blue coat lined with fur.

"I do approve of a woman who can fight and still maintain her sartorial elegance," she said as she eyed the Chinese woman with a smile.

"Would you care to join me for dinner, Miss MacMillan?" Camellia asked, smiling back. Lizzy agreed without hesitation.

As she sat eating dumplings elegantly—flanked by poor Dot who had never used chopsticks before in her life—Lizzy became even more intrigued by this Camellia Lin. She was soft and sweet, and if she hadn't seen the fight with her own eyes, she probably wouldn't have believed she could be that tough. This was not just any woman. She also seemed to be not so subtly flirting with Lizzy, and Lizzy couldn't help but respond. When they parted, Lizzy wondered if they would meet again, and if she would ever get to know more about this woman.

* * *

The next day, Lizzy talked to the young, eager Mr Evans when he asked her to help him practice some lines. She was not one to turn down a challenge on the stage like that—even less so with Jack there, remembering the way she had told him earlier she spoke "fluent thespian". A challenge was a challenge, even if it meant putting on the most ridiculous hat. It was a poor match for her suit, but it still helped her get into character—that was the magic of the stage.

In the middle of delivering her first line, she sensed an odd smell in the air and hesitated for a moment before delivering her lines.

"Miss MacMillan!" she heard as a strangled shout from the side of the board. Then someone lunged at her and knocked her down forcefully, taking her breath away as she was not prepared for such an onslaught. Her assaulter landed heavily on her.

When she came to, her eyes had trouble focusing, but the face above her finally turned out to be Inspector Robinson's, calling her name. He was practically lying on top of her, his brow creased in worry.

"Lizzy! Lizzy? Are you alright?"

Despite her dizziness, she smiled.

"I assure you, it's not a common occurrence for me to have gentlemen between my thighs." It was as much to joke with him as to show him that she was unharmed.

He realised their compromising position and helped her up, blushing and sporting his crooked, self-deprecating smile.

"It seems I got to play the hero today," he said.

She smiled and then creased her brow, trying to think of what had tipped her off that something was amiss. That smell. She touched his arm to make him come closer, comfortable around him in a way she wasn't all that often with men—she hadn't realised until now how true that was—and told him she had smelled hyacinths just as the sack was about to drop.

A few minutes later, backstage, she saw the ghost herself. A threatening note singled down in front of her, telling her she would be next. It was clearly meant to intimidate her, but she refused to allow that. Lizzy was far too well-travelled to let a thespian ghost scare her. She was sure there was more to this, and that it was of the corporeal kind.

When she heard a suspicious noise backstage, she grabbed the nearest possible weapon she could find—a big piece of wood—and attacked. There was no way the ghost would manage to take her unawares one more time. But the man she almost managed to hit turned out to be Jack, nosing around just as she did. He awkwardly embraced her as he tried to protect himself from the impact of her hit.

"Must you sneak around?" she hissed.

He still had her captured in his arms as he answered, whispering, "I heard something."

Lizzy had also heard something, and she showed him the letter she had received, with the simple statement "You're next". Jack looked gravely at her, shuddering slightly.

"Now I really can't let you out of my sight."

Lizzy smiled and disentangled from his arms.

"That might be a tad too intimate for my taste, Inspector," she said. "Even if you are one of my favourite males."

He made an indesicive head gesture.

"I meant that as more of a metaphorical statement, Miss MacMillan," he replied, sporting a small smile. Then he turned serious. "But I confess I don't like this one bit."

He was still anxious as they left the theatre, afraid that Lizzy could suddenly be ambushed wherever she went.

Just as his senses were on edge, the two of them ran into Camellia Lin in the alley. She had a man with her, but at the sight of Lizzy she gave a few words in Chinese and he disappeared into the shadows. Camellia turned her eyes to Lizzy, asking if she wanted to join her for dinner. An intrigued Lizzy extricated herself from Jack's protection—he really did want to play the gentleman a little too much sometimes, but he had at least the sense to not protest her right to do as she pleased, even if she did hear him sigh—and walked with Camellia to her family's restaurant. The food was delicious, and Camellia was clearly impressed with Lizzy's knowledge of Chinese customs.

Camellia proved to be an intriguing dinner conversationalist, talking about the homeland and Australia, about fabrics and her husband, about thugs in the alleys and—here she lowered her voice seductively—about her interest in exploring other cultures. Lizzy's tales of her investigations mesmerised her, and she seemed to drown in Lizzy's eyes, gasping at the right moments of suspense.

After the meal, Camellia asked if she could follow Lizzy home.

"Don't you have to go home to your husband?" Lizzy asked, testing the water, her eyebrow quirked as she gazed at the woman in front of her.

"Mr Lin and I… have an arrangement," Camellia said. "We are married but it's a marriage of convenience, mutually beneficial but not built on love." She shrugged and looked Lizzy in the eyes. "My family's fortune saved his family from ruin. Lin knows I have a strong inclination towards… the female side." Lizzy saw Camellia's eyes graze her own lips, and felt the heat build between them. "He doesn't begrudge me that."

Lizzy had known more than one woman with a similar arrangement, especially in Europe after the war. But there was something special about Camellia, about her intensity and complete lack of coquettishness, that made her feel this might be rather different.

"Well, if Mr Lin doesn't mind," Lizzy said, seeing Camellia's mouth turn into a small smile, "I do think you should explore that inclination of yours."

"I agree," Camellia said, her eyes locked in Lizzy's before she reluctantly withdrew to rise from the table and put on her coat. As they walked out, she added, tilting her head slightly, "Do you know he's an old acquaintance of your friend, Doctor Fisher?"

"I did not."

"They had a dalliance some months ago," Camellia said, smiling. "But he never told me about the Doctor's stunning friend."

Back at Wardlow, they spent a luscious night together. Lizzy brought Camellia into her boudoir and as soon as the door was closed, she captured her guest's lips in the most slow and longing kiss. She felt electrified; Camellia was all new sensations. Soft, delicate skin contrasted with strong, demanding fingers. Dark, sensitive eyes gazed into her own blue. Lizzy's tongue trailed fire on Camellia's beautiful skin, spellbound by the sounds of pleasure extricated at her touch.

They only slept a few hours that night.

When Camellia rose to dress and leave the next morning, Lizzy asked if she really had to go. One night did not feel enough to even learn the surface of this woman; she doubted even the hundredfold would satisfy her.

"I do. But if you want to, I'll come back again."

"I do," Lizzy said.

She trailed a hand along Camellia's spine, before her lover dropped a simple kiss on her hair and left.

* * *

When Jack came back to the theatre the next day, he walked into not only Miss MacMillan but also her doctor friend. They were just about to enter the building.

"Hello Jack!" Miss MacMillan said, turning one of her brilliant smiles his way.

"Miss MacMillan, Doctor Fisher," Jack said, taking off his hat. "Don't tell me a scientist like you believe in ghosts, Doctor Fisher," he stated flatly.

Lizzy tilted her head. "We are both sceptical but open-minded, Jack. Perhaps you should try that too sometime."

Jack smiled at her, failing to look scolded. "I think I'll stick to scepticism," he said, holding the door open for them.

"I do appreciate a sceptical mind," Doctor Fisher stated and was rewarded with the smaller smile, that almost invisibly tugged at the Inspector's lips.

The three of them worked well together, just like they had when they tried out the chemical formula. Miss MacMillan and Doctor Fisher went through possible scenarios of how the ghost apparition could be created. Jack stayed silent, watching them, adding a comment now and then. He found it hard to take his eyes away from Doctor Fisher—Phryne, she had told him to say, but he never seemed to be able to, as if it would be too intimate, too meaningful—as she listed substances and techniques that could have been used. She gave her suggestions and Lizzy sorted through them as quickly, acknowledging their merits or why they couldn't be at play here. She was vigorous, dressed in a beautiful black suit, set against the doctor's cream white outfit.

"That gives me an idea!" Lizzy exclaimed suddenly, her mouth turning into that crooked smile she had when she was about to solve a particularly tricky case. "I need to check something in the dressing rooms. I'll be back in a minute."

Before Phryne could answer or Jack react, she was gone.

When they were alone, Phryne registered Jack's stillness. She stopped and glanced at him; he self-consciously turned away to fiddle with something. She looked at the figure he cut with his long coat, broad shoulders, and face in half profile. She felt something stir in her—the memory of their conversation in his car, how close he had come to kissing her, the way he so clearly respected her and understood the demands and importance of her job. This was a kind of wooing she wasn't used to; the slow, slightly reluctant interest that had evolved like a waltz between them.

Jack had similar thoughts as he stood some distance away from her. When did he become so affected by seeing a doctor at work? Admittedly she was the most stunning and clever doctor he'd ever met, but she was still a doctor, and they were there for work. He thought about one of the persistent thoughts he had had lately, deliberating on whether he could telephone her in at the times when Dr Johnson disappeared into one of his regular but rare drinking sprees. Having Doctor Fisher working in the morgue would most definitely lift his spirit—but that was perhaps an overly morbid thought. Jack internally scolded himself, then turned back.

"It sounds like Miss McMillan might be on the scent to wrap up the case, Doctor Fisher. Excellent work, both of you," he said.

She looked at him, then smiled. "You're not too bad yourself," she answered kindly.

There was something wistful in her smile that tugged at Jack's heart, and he remembered their conversation in his car, when she had complimented him on not judging people. He had almost kissed her. Why did he feel like this? She was the best friend of his investigative partner, and he knew her reputation—she wasn't precisely a shy flower, rather almost as flamboyant as her friend. Why would he choose such a woman to make his heart beat faster? The answer was simple, of course—it was hardly a choice. She was flirtatious, fun, clever, mesmerising, and genuinely interesting. He said to himself he couldn't let these feelings shake up his whole world. He had told Miss MacMillan he was married; surely she must have told her friend? He had staked his boundaries openly. He had nothing to be afraid of; not even his own burgeoning feelings for this doctor.

And then, just as he felt composed enough to turn to her again, she teased him about the stage.

"You look terribly comfortable on stage, Inspector. I confess I never had the taste for it. Is it one of your natural habitats?"

He smiled self-deprecatingly.

"On the contrary, Doctor Fisher. One unsuccessful experience rather turned me away from it."

"Let me guess," she said, scrutinizing him. "Operetta?"

His eyes grew wide.

"How did you know?"

"I didn't. I just guessed from what would feel most devastating to be criticised about." She smiled. "May I see, so I can judge for myself?"

They fell so easily into their repartee, it was as if they'd known each other forever and not just a few months. She made him feel dizzy and lightheaded.

"I can't remember a word of it," he protested.

"Of course you can! Once you've learned one of those songs, it's there for good. That's not an excuse I'm going to accept."

He gazed at her, amazed at how good she was at goading him, and making him feel like he wanted to live up to her challenge.

"I'm more of a Shakespeare man," he finally admitted.

"I'm sure Shakespeare wouldn't mind, Inspector." Her eyes were full of mirth. "The stage is all yours."

He looked at her, his eyes chastising her for her cheek, but then he visibly crumbled. He decided he could give her a short poem. It seemed he didn't manage to think this through very well, though, because before he knew it, he was reciting a passage about Cleopatra to her. That was one of his favourite passages from Antony and Cleopatra, and it had made him think about her and Miss MacMillan more than once, but he was still shocked that he did it.

"She makes hungry where most she satisfies," he concluded, his voice dark. It was as if the words made him realise his feelings about her fully—that this was not only Shakespeare talking, but also him. As he finished the quote, he hardly dared to breath. What had he done? Had he scared her off? Had he invited her in?

The doctor smiled. After a few seconds she said:

"Perhaps a career in the theatre beckons after all, Inspector."

He took a breath before he answered, knowing he might regret it, but finding Shakespeare had somehow forced his hands in becoming more candid than he had intended.

"I find my acting abilities have become rather worse as of late," he answered, slightly afraid of this turn to the serious, but plodding on. He looked down on his hands, his heart beating frantically—for him daring to say this, to her, here. Then he met her gaze again. "Especially around you."

He heard her intake of breath; she obviously realised what he was saying. He couldn't believe he had. He leaned down and offered her his hand, helping her up from her sitting position. When she stood, he didn't let go of her hand immediately. He just looked down into her eyes for what felt like forever. Just as she started to believe he would actually kiss her, he took a small step back instead. He was about to say something when there was a noise from the backstage area, and seconds later, Bart and Mr Lin—of all people—entered the stage.

"Mr Tarrant," Phryne said. "Lin!"

"Phryne," Lin said, surprised at first, then coming up to kiss her hand. "We meet again."

He was far too suave and smiling for this to be a casual greeting, practically devouring her with his eyes. There was a responding smile on Phryne's lips.

Jack felt his heart sink. He recognised the man. He had a vague suspicion he might be an opium dealer, even if he didn't have any proof of it. Seeing the doctor smile at him did things to the inspector's gut. It wasn't just that she seemed likely to be this man's lover, even if that did sting. It was that she had such questionable taste in men, especially considering she was quite often taking part in crime investigations. Couldn't she see that? Couldn't she see this was likely not a man to trust, and couldn't she trust him, Jack, more than a man like this?

"We're looking for Lizzy," Bart said to Phryne. "Do you know where she is?"

Phryne told him Lizzy had stepped away to test a theory in the dressing rooms, and the two gentlemen went in search for her, Lin giving her a little bow before disappearing.

When they were alone again, the temperature had dropped significantly. Phryne raised her head and looked at Jack, seeing his jaw clench and unclench. Was he angry? Did he regret his earlier words? What had he even meant to do? They were silent. She had no idea what she could say to ease the tension of the situation.

She had no right to be disappointed in him for not kissing her—even before they were interrupted, she had known he wasn't going to. She had told herself she didn't particularly want him to, hadn't she? She had given this some thought since they last met. They were too different, she wasn't sure she could be in the kind of relationship he seemed to need, he was still married… Oh god, he was married! Had she been cruel to even ask him to recite something? (No Phryne, she chastised herself, it cannot be your fault that he chose that poem. You could just as well claim he is the one playing with you. But she knew he wasn't. He wasn't a man who played those kinds of games.) She had not thought about the fact he was married all evening, and he did rather behave as if he was wooing her. She was confused. Did she need to stop this before someone got hurt? And was it possible that that someone might even be her? But now he had shown his true colours, disapproving of the fact that she had lovers, hadn't he? Why did he look at her with that hurt expression? Had she ever promised him anything?

"I see you have acquaintances all over Melbourne," Jack stated, flatly.

With a rear of its head her stubbornness claimed her. She didn't know exactly what he was getting at, but it was clear he disapproved. She couldn't let a man have that kind of views about her, he did not have any right over her. Even if she surprised herself by realising she liked him more than most men. Even if she had almost succumbed to kissing him, twice—a man it would mean something rather different to kiss than her usual lovers.

"I am who I am, Jack," she said, deciding that more than one could play the game of being curt. "I can't give that up."

She was suddenly less sure about the statement than she usually was, but she didn't show that in the inflection of her voice—her voice came through certain and exasperated. It didn't show that she might have been on the brink of admitting this Inspector in, to say that perhaps she could want a man more than casually, and perhaps that was the case with this steadfast, greyish, and slightly battered man, who somehow seemed to challenge her insistence on independence in a way none of her young lovers had. Not for a very long time.

This was all a mess.

Jack gave her a defeated look. It seemed she had seen through him, but at the same time she hadn't understood what he meant at all.

"I'm not asking you to give it up, Doctor Fisher," he said, his voice slightly strangled. "I would never ask you to do that."

He had trouble breathing, seeing how she'd been so close, but now she was farther away than ever. He was hurt that this was how she'd interpreted him. She was who she was, but the same was true of him. He was a copper. He was married, even if he admittedly almost had ignored that himself. He wasn't a man who had easy, meaningless flings. He had never wanted to kiss anyone more in his life, but this evening, they were both in the wrong. He couldn't, and even if he could, she wouldn't. It was all a mess. There was simply too much baggage for lift-off.

"I have to go," he said. After a moment, she nodded.

Jack beat a hasty retreat, looking like he wanted to apologize, but not finding the words for what it was he had done wrong.

Phryne found herself alone, standing on a stage that had seen such surprising shifts of mood this evening and now had turned to a cold, dead set. She shivered. Then she visibly shook herself, not allowing the gloom to take over her. She went to find Lizzy and see if the investigations were done for the day. But it seemed her friend had already left for Wardlow, with Mrs Lin, probably certain Phryne wouldn't need her more that day.

In the end, Phryne Fisher walked alone to the tram a few blocks away. After fifteen minutes, the tram came and carried her home.

* * *

 _Note to chapter 5:_ I was inspired by Lin Chung being Phryne's steady lover in the books, but turned that into a lesbian relationship with Camellia instead. As I modelled Lizzy/Camellia on that relationship, I also chose to make it straight-forward in that way - that they find each other quite quickly, not as a slowburn.


	6. Murder in Montparnasse

_Lizzy and Jack are at Café Répliqué and Jack needs to distract her - what is he to do? Lizzy and Phryne haven't seen each other for ages and indulge in a long conversation. Someone surprises Jack at home after dinner._

* * *

Lizzy was working cases like a benevolent whirlwind, meeting Camellia for dates and nights at Wardlow in between. She challenged Jack with her knowledge of Judo and of the newspaper world—and with her old connections with Paris, that suddenly re-entered her life when she least expected it. The case with the young flower maidens took her hard; young girls that no one cared for always touched her deeply. She and Dot had arranged for them to learn something about how to behave in the world—Dot perhaps being the more ladylike of them, and Lizzy the more energetic. In the end, Lizzy was happy she could at least teach them some self-defence. The girls reminded her of her sister and herself as children, and she wanted to give them something that would make life better for them, to show them there is always hope. As she struggled with her own feelings about Foyle and his quest for being released, she needed that more than ever: a sense of hope, of good things triumphing over bad. Every young person she could help was a real relief, and so far, she'd managed to keep Foyle in prison where he belonged.

The most personal case lately was the one leading up to the moment in Café Repliqué. Not only had her friend Bert been threatened, and his friends killed, but it had turned out to be René's doing. René—the only attempt she had ever made at trying to have a male lover, and an attempt that had spectacularly imploded. He was jealous, narcissistic, and tried to control everyone who was close to him. And now he was a murderer too. Lizzy was determined to stop him from doing any more harm.

That was why she had so blatantly refused Jack's suggestion she stay away from the café.

"It will be much safer without you, Miss Macmillan," he said. "He will be able to recognise you, and we will be split between capturing him and protecting you."

"You know I don't need protection, Jack," she had answered, her chin firmly set. "I can take care of myself. René is a devious bastard, and I'm the only one who can see through his tricks."

He had tried to persuade her a while longer, but her flashing eyes had told him it would be to no avail. Finally, he had given up, and decided to position himself close by so he could monitor her.

As they waited for the man to show up in the café, Lizzy's nervousness made Jack on edge. René could be there any second, and Lizzy didn't seem to remember she had promised to listen to Jack. And then René came in, and she was about to look him straight in the eye—he would spot her immediately. Jack couldn't allow it. Desperately, he grabbed her, and to not make her shout out in surprise, he kissed her. Covering her mouth with his, taking her focus away for a crucial moment.

She had been very surprised—so surprised that his ploy worked, and he managed to keep her out of the heat. At least for a while. The feeling of his lips on her had been peculiar—kissing someone you like very much, but someone you really don't want to share a kiss with.

In the end she still rushed into the fray, as Bert was about to do something very stupid, and she had to reveal herself to René, who grabbed her. She almost managed to fight him, but he was too quick. He pulled her to him and pointed a gun at her head.

"Stay back, Jack!" Lizzy exclaimed, afraid the Inspector would do something foolish in his attempts to protect her. He never seemed to learn not to play the hero.

"My Lizzy," René said, honey-tongued, and it had been such déjà vu—for a second, René held his power over her again, claiming to own her. "My ginger cat. So that's what happens when you don't have me anymore. Trying to become a man yourself?" He hissed the last words.

She managed to out-manoeuvre him and luckily, Jack had all his policeman sensibilities alert and lunged for René at the exact right moment. Suddenly, she was the one with the upper hand, pointing a gun at René, her old tormenter. She cocked the gun.

"You wouldn't kill me," René stated, confidently.

She wasn't sure. Perhaps she actually would. But she never had the time to find out. She stood up to him, defied him, but when he tried to flee it was Veronique, his long-suffering lover, who put a knife into him.

She didn't know what to feel about René. Sadness for what he had done. Anger for what he was. Relief that he was gone. She realised, as Jack squatted beside her and touched her arm as he asked how she felt, that she was genuinely alright. She still had her share of shadows, but René was not one of them, not any more.

Jack had been there, kind and gentle, showing her a different way of being a man. She had been so grateful at that moment, for him being there—him, and the ever-loyal Hugh, and stupidly hot-headed but wonderful Bert. They proved there was a way forward, that the man lying dead beside her was not the norm.

She had teased Jack about that kiss later, when he came to return her painting just to realise it was a nude study of her as a young woman.

"It's been a very long time since I've been kissed by a man, Inspector," she said.

His ears turned slightly pink at her tone.

"It was…" he started. "It was for distraction. I needed to keep you safe, Miss MacMillan." He trailed off, trying not to look at the painting.

Lizzy quirked a sarcastic eyebrow at him.

"You kissed me. To keep me from interfering," she said. She wasn't sure which part of that annoyed her most.

"It didn't work," he mumbled.

"I'm not that easily distracted by men, Jack. Not even you," she said and winked, just to see him turn pink again. "But I will forgive you the indiscretion, this once. Since you were mostly trying to do your job."

He had stayed for a nightcap after that, and the awkwardness hadn't stayed for long. She appreciated a man that so easily could see the humour in it all. When Camellia came and joined them later, Lizzy told her the story too. She was delighted, as she always was over Lizzy's stories, and although he looked a little uncomfortable, Jack managed the torture with accolade. Her Inspector friend really was a good sport.

* * *

During all the weeks of case work—meeting her old lover, and trying to help young maidens as well as their old school teacher, Miss Charlesworth—Phryne wasn't part of Lizzy's investigations. She was fully immersed in her own work at the hospital and the university, trying to contribute to the medical world with some original research while doing her job, performing surgery and giving advice to women who didn't have the energy to bear more children. Lizzy was in awe of her friend's research abilities and her work, although they did make for slightly less entertaining conversations than her own investigations.

When the case with the flower maidens was concluded, Lizzy finally persuaded Phryne to come for a delicious dinner, courtesy of Mr Butler. Afterwards, they reclined in the plush chairs in her parlour to drink wine. They hadn't seen each other for two months, but no matter the time span, it always felt they could just pick up where they left off, teasing and laughing and talking.

Lizzy told Phryne the most vivid details from her investigations with Jack. She had just made it to the story about Jack kissing her at Café Repliqué—how he'd desperately needed her to be distracted so she wouldn't draw attention to herself, and realised he only had his own body to use for it. Perhaps, she said, perhaps he lost himself a little too much in the surprise kiss; she thought it might be longer than strictly necessary. But no matter what, they'd managed to catch the murderer in the end, and Lizzy had only been in danger for a few minutes.

As soon as she'd recounted this, she sat straight up and looked at Phryne, a twinkle in her eye.

"I cannot believe there is a man in this city I have kissed and not you!"

She was watching Phryne's face as she said it. She wasn't trying to be cruel, exactly, but their friendship built on total honesty and she wanted to suss out her friend's reaction.

Phryne smiled sardonically.

"Well, you saw him first, Lizzy—he's rightfully yours."

"You can't play dibs on people," Lizzy laughed. "And you know you can totally have him."

"You know perfectly well I cannot," Phryne protested.

"Well, I mean, as far as I'm concerned."

Phryne reached out to caress Lizzy's hand. "I know, darling."

Lizzy looked pensive and continued.

"He was a rather good kisser, if I'm allowed to judge a man." She paused. "Those lips are as soft as they look stern when he frowns. And he has the most delightful tongue." Her eyes sparkled.

"Enough. Now you are a bit cruel," Phryne laughed, sipping her wine while trying to find another topic for conversation. "Tell me about Camellia instead."

Lizzy turned serious.

"Camellia is wonderful."

"I heard she got a job at good old Miss Charlesworth's magazine."

"Yes. After the case with the poisoning at the newspaper office." Lizzy's face visibly softened at the thought of her lover. "She's perfect for it. She's clever, a real fighter. She knows how to reach out to people, and she knows how to capture a story. She's always curious. Miss Charlesworth is very pleased."

Phryne looked at her friend.

"You love her." It was a simple statement.

"I do, Fish. I do."

It was such a matter-of-fact utterance. For Phryne, it was also a revelation. She couldn't see Lizzy in any way lessened or changed because she was in love with this one woman. And Lizzy was obviously happy.

"How serious are you?"

"Well, it's not like we'll ever marry," Lizzy laughed. "She's my love, and I am hers. She has Lin and their marriage, of course, even if it is for convenience."

"One day I bet you would be able to marry. But I'm not sure that will happen within our lifetime," Phryne mused. "Their arrangement seems to work well for both," she added, thinking of her own quite lovely encounters with the good Mr Lin.

"She likes him, says he's a decent fellow." Lizzy paused and then continued, more contemplatively, "I always admired you for being happy with casual lovers, Fish. It sounds so easy. But I put too much of my heart in it; it's not what I seek. Camellia is… Every time I meet her, I'm looking forward to what she will say and do. She won't ever come and live with me, but she'll spend a lot of her time here."

"That sounds almost like you're her concubine," Phryne teased.

"You're not allowed to put labels from the conventional, heterosexual life on us, darling." Lizzy smiled as she tilted her head. "We're equal in this. She broadens my world, and I broaden hers. She's fun."

Phryne couldn't help feeling that sounded like a perfect relationship, a wonderful balance. Of course that would be easier to find between two women, than between a man and a woman. Wouldn't it?

"And the things she teaches me about Chinese culture..." Lizzy continued. "Oh, that reminds me. She left a present for you."

Lizzy went to fetch a parcel and Phryne opened it. Inside was a wonderful silk robe, black, and on the back embroidered with colourful birds.

"It's exquisite," Phryne said, breathless.

"They are colourful, fighting cocks," Lizzy said, pronouncing every word separately to heighten the impact of the joke. That earned her a delighted smile from Phryne. "When I saw it I said it couldn't be for anyone but you. Camellia simply loved the idea."

"Hah! And Camellia does know…?"

"About you and Lin having a dalliance? Of course she does."

Phryne smiled and caressed the pattern. "It will be perfect tomorrow evening. I have a date with one of the ballet dancers from the opera. Vladimir."

"That sounds truly lovely, Fish. Is he beautiful?"

"Magnificent."

"Oh, talking of which, have you seen Jack lately?" Lizzy asked abruptly.

Phryne looked slightly whiplashed from the change of topic. She thought back. "He never comes by at the hospital anymore," she said. "Not since…"

"Since when?"

"Well, since he almost kissed me."

Lizzy looked at her, bemused.

"You never told me that!"

"Frankly, there was nothing to tell, since he didn't."

"Fish. You're my best friend. Jack might be my second-best friend. I need to know these things," Lizzy protested. "I need to know if someone will suddenly be incapacitated from thwarted love, or another suddenly can't go certain places for fear of meeting the other. If you don't tell me, I can't do my job!"

They looked at each other blankly for a few moments before they burst out laughing. Phryne finally threw a pillow on Lizzy, just to make her stop giggling.

"Alright, alright. I agree you have an unchallenged right to know more about me than anyone else alive, perhaps even myself," Phryne conceded, her hands up in the air. Then she reached for her wine glass. "Jack didn't kiss me at the theatre, and then he ran so fast I didn't get a ride but had to take the tram. Since then, we've only met very little, and you know the stilted conversation we had last time he came for a nightcap and I happened to be here."

Lizzy thought for a moment. It had been an awkward moment, before Fish had pretended she had to go. Jack had been absentminded the whole evening after that; Lizzy hadn't understood why and had been annoyed when he didn't respond energetically enough to her banter.

"Coward," Lizzy said.

"He is."

"I was talking about you too, Fish."

Fish rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her drink instead of answering.

Lizzy smiled at her friend. "Oh, the tragedies of unfulfilled love!"

"I didn't call it love, Lizz."

"But I do. I'm allowed to know more about you than you do yourself, remember?"

Phryne rolled her eyes again but kept quiet.

"I can't believe it's harder to be in love with Jack Robinson than to be a woman who loves women in this bleak world," Lizzy said. "The two of you are quite adorable."

"Right, that's it," Phryne said mock-sternly. "I won't stay to be ridiculed anymore. Also, I have a fairly early morning tomorrow."

"Excuses, excuses," Lizzy said as Phryne reached down to kiss her on the cheek. "Have fun with the ballet dancer."

Phryne winked at her. "I certainly will."

* * *

Jack was home from work and had just finished dinner when there was a knock on his door. Could it be a neighbour in need of something? Or Miss MacMillan with some new hare-brained scheme that she felt needed his immediate attention? He only rarely had visitors, and he wasn't expecting anyone today.

When he opened the door, a brown-haired woman in a mauve coat and a rather fashionable cloche stood in front of him; a woman who not so long ago had been part of his daily life, but that he now hadn't seen for months.

"Hello, Jack," she said. She was a little stiff, but her voice soft.

"Rosie."

After a few seconds, he remembered his manners. "Please, come in."

He fumbled a little with her coat and then invited her in to his parlour. She politely declined tea. As they'd settled in his chairs, she looked expectantly at him.

"I came to hear about the paper work. You received it, didn't you? Do you have any objections?"

"No," he said, fidgeting with his hands and wishing they had had tea so he would have something to busy himself with. "No, Rosie. It's fine. I'll sign the papers tonight. If you're sure you want to do this?"

"I've been thinking for close to a year, Jack. Yes, I'm sure. We're not functioning together and you know it."

"We used to…" he started, and she interrupted him with a hand on his. "Yes, we did."

She withdrew her hand and gazed around the room, looking for something to set her eyes on and spotting a newspaper. Her eyes searched his for a moment before she said:

"Is it correct that you are quite close to that lady detective, Miss MacMillan?"

He looked sharply at her.

"Who told you that?"

"You can't be surprised I know! You know I have connections in the police force."

Of course. How stupid of him. Jack had thought of it as a kind of secret—his own and private world, precious and separated from the disaster of his earlier life. Rosie's father was a police officer—his boss, even—and she had plenty of friends among the policemen's wives. Of course his life wasn't shielded from her.

He made a small grunt of acknowledgement.

"You do know she's a rather scandalous woman?"

He flinched at that.

"She's a part of the upper crust of society, and she's a bloody good detective," he said defensively.

"Don't swear, Jack."

"Miss MacMillan has a big heart and a bright mind, she has helped the police to solve numerous crimes, and to acquit quite a few people falsely accused of murder. You cannot deem that scandalous."

"But she's an invert."

He raised his eyebrow.

"Come on Rosie, you don't even know that. And what's it to you, even if she was?"

"I don't know that, but there are rumours. I'm just concerned about your reputation. "

"There's no need to be, Rosie. I'm not worried, and my reputation will very soon not be anything for you to worry about."

She frowned at that.

"You think it's that easy? You think I will ever not worry about your reputation—about you? We've been married for more than 15 years, Jack. You can't just take that away."

"I'm sorry, Rosie," he said, stroking a hand over his face. "I do understand. But I still won't tolerate you badmouthing my… colleague. Friend. Miss Macmillan is an asset to City South."

"You sound completely enamoured, Jack," Rosie said, more defensively than before. "That doesn't make any sense."

He shrugged, not wanting to delve into exactly what feelings he had for Miss MacMillan, or the fact that feelings could be incredibly strong without being amorous. He couldn't help wondering what she would say if she knew about Miss MacMillan's friend, and that he—although he'd decided to stop seeing her—sometimes daydreamed about a doctor whose scandalous life was decidedly more dangerous to his virtue.

"I don't care as long as she's a brilliant investigator," he said, a little bit testily. "Was that all? There's nothing else to discuss?"

"My lawyer will be contacting you with court dates," she said. Then her eyes softened again. "This will be for the best, Jack. For both of us. I'm sure of it."

She stood, and he politely followed her to the door, holding the coat for her as she readied herself for the evening outside. She reached out her hand—it felt awkward, but he took it and shook his wife's hand as if they were almost strangers.

"Good bye, Jack," she said.

"Good bye, Rosie."

For a fleeting moment, he wished she had stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek, like she had done so many times during their years together. That was one of the many gestures of Rosie Robinson, soon again to be Rosie Sanderson, that he would miss when she was gone from his life.

* * *

 _Note to chapter 6: Phryne teases Lizzy that it "sounds almost like you're her concubine." In the books Phryne is sometimes called Lin's concubine, and as I changed the relationship to be with Camellia, it amused me to have a mention of this._


	7. Death by Miss Adventure

_Finally, it's time for "Death by Miss Adventure" - one of the episodes with a lot of Mac in it! And here, that's Phryne instead._

 _Jack has to arrest Doctor Fisher, since all the evidence points towards her. Lizzy is, of course, furious._

* * *

Lizzy was woken up unusually early by Mr Butler knocking on her bedroom door.

"At this hour?" Lizzy complained from the warm blankets of her bed.

"It's Doctor Fisher. She doesn't seem herself, Miss," Mr Butler said, and she was instantly alerted by the seriousness in his tone. This was no ordinary house call, and she had to wake up promptly—the late hour she had taken leave of Camellia and gone to bed be damned.

Lizzy pulled on one of her suits and made it down to the dining room, spotting Fish almost immediately. She looked very pale.

"What happened, Fish?" Lizzy said, laying her hand over her friend's.

"There was a death. At the factory. You know the one I have to go to regularly, thanks to your Aunt and her hospital board." Fish was trying for sarcasm, but her heart wasn't in it; it came out rather flat. She breathed in and started over. "His name was Dave Miller and we… I know him. Knew him. Fairly well."

"An old lover," Lizzy said, nodding.

"Yes." Fish paused. "Not that old, either. He was young and beautiful. Lively. Lovely."

Lizzy called Mr Butler and asked for a pot of strong coffee. And, after some thought, a stiff drink for Fish. When he arrived with the ordered drinks, Lizzy pressed the whisky on Fish.

"Go on, darling, take your medicine. You need it." Her tone was soft, almost cajoling. "Let me be the doctor for a change."

Lizzy could see Fish visibly relax, grateful to have someone take care of her. She never had that, Lizzy thought to herself. She was always the brave, tough, and knowledgeable one; the one people asked for advice. There was not really room for her to be weak, or sad. Lizzy squeezed her hand, trying to convey that she was there. That she would take care of her dear Fish.

They sat in silence while they drank their respective drinks, Lizzy feeling her energy slowly returning with the help of the coffee. Mr B truly was an artist in the kitchen.

After a while, she picked up the thread again.

"So this young man, Dave, he was working by his machine when the accident…" She didn't even get to finish the sentence before Fish interrupted her.

"This was no accident," she said. "By the time they let me see the body, the owners were already skulking around. There's more to this, Lizzy. I'm sure of it."

"I trust your instincts, Fish," Lizzy said. "Of course, I'll look into it."

* * *

That proved to be easier said than done. When Lizzy followed a determined Fish to the place, Hugh was there and had already decided it was an accident. The green pallor of his face gave away that he just wanted to escape from there as quickly as possible. That was not the best sign of thorough detective work, and even if Hugh was a darling, Lizzy was annoyed with him. That feeling didn't improve when she was thrown out of the factory—just for trying to assess the crime scene! At least she managed to get a good view of the machine first.

Some time later, Lizzy barged into Jack's office, determination written all over her face. Hand on her hips, she stopped before him.

"There is something fishy here, Jack. I can smell it. That owner was far too eager to get us out of there."

Jack looked at his angry investigative partner. He had no intention to coddle her.

"That wouldn't have anything to do with you barging in there like a freight train, would it?" he asked, a small smile tugging on his lips.

"I assure you, I was an exceedingly charming freight train," Lizzy said pointedly, standing as tall as she could. Even if it wasn't very tall, it was still impressive; that was a feat she shared with her Aunt, Mrs Stanley.

"I'm sure," he said, his smile almost impossible to make out, but obviously there. "So, it didn't work this time? Have you lost your touch, Miss MacMillan?"

She sized him up and told him exactly why Hugh had made a poor job on the field this morning, and she could see he believed her. There was no way blood would dry that quickly, and as much as he enjoyed seeing Lizzy's freight train technique failing for once, the case was suspicious, and he trusted her.

Jack hadn't counted on Lizzy actually being forbidden to enter the premises again, but he had to admit he quite enjoyed it. And he definitely hadn't counted on her response to that—sending Dot as an undercover tea lady. The young companion did an admirable job, cool as a cucumber, and Jack managed to stop Hugh from giving her away in his dumbstruck surprise when they visited the factory. The horror on Hugh's face was endearing, and Jack enjoyed seeing his constable come to terms with Miss Williams' bravery. It all turned out to be a rather fun case, if one looked past the actual cruel death—to see Miss MacMillan having to find other ways of investigating than studying the crime scene herself.

Of course she was excellent also as a strategist behind the scenes.

After Gaskin's surprise death, Miss MacMillan turned up at the factory again. It wasn't like Gaskin was there to complain, was it? Jack had to concur, smiling at her quick wit, even joking with her about this being their joint crime scene. She grinned as she took in his meaning.

As they went through the case, they learned that Doctor Fisher had been there the same day to give the factory owner his injection, and Lizzy needed to check into that. A quick chat over a cigarette in the sun between Lizzy and Fish cleared the matter—she'd been there, but she'd left well before his death.

"Which puts you in the clear," Lizzy said.

"What, did you actually suspect me?" Fish asked.

Lizzy shrugged.

"Of course not. But this is officially clearing you, and I prefer it that way. Especially as everyone knows you detested the man."

Fish rolled her eyes.

"I can hardly be the only one, he was a complete prick." She produced a small, wry smile. "I'm almost sorry to disappoint you and your diligent inspector."

"Don't be," Lizzy smiled as she took over the cigarette end from the doctor. "We prefer to find the actual culprits and keep our friends out of jail."

She was feeling rather light hearted and smug—happy to see her young companion bloom in her undercover role, and to sit in the sun with her friend having a chat. Even the lurking of Murdoch Foyle, who had just sent her a letter, felt less dark when she could share it with Fish, who advised her to stay away from the murderer and not pay attention to his tricks. Not even Foyle could take away the contentment she felt at this moment, doing what she loved the most—finding out the truth, creating justice—and doing it with the people she loved.

Soon after, the case took a completely different, and much more sinister turn.

* * *

Jack wouldn't have believed it if someone had told him just the day before that he would have to arrest Phryne Fisher. But the evidence of the case was very much against her, and he found he had no choice. She was a strong-willed person who always made her views clear, and everyone knew she had hated Gaskin. She had the medical knowledge, she was his doctor, and she had given him an injection that same day that could easily have been exchanged for the poison. She was also the last known person to have seen him alive, before he fell dead out of his own window.

To summarize, things didn't look particularly good.

This meant that after having almost kissed her on a theatre stage, and then hardly seen her for several weeks—the few meetings they couldn't avoid stilted and short—he was now supposed to stomp into her office at the hospital and drag her out as a murder suspect, for everyone to see. This was the woman he had realised, at the theatre, that he might be in love with—however old-fashioned it might seem to her, and however unrequited it was. The world of a Detective Inspector truly was a bleak place.

Jack knew what he had to do—he had to do what honour and duty and evidence said and arrest her. He didn't have to believe she was guilty, though. Everything he had ever seen from her was generosity, integrity, and a fair bit of sarcasm. He couldn't believe she would murder someone, even if she hated them.

He had already written her off as a possible suspect once—that was before the new evidence had come to light—and Miss MacMillan had been pleased with him. This time, she wouldn't be, he knew that… He stood outside the women's hospital, taking a few deep breaths before entering the building. He easily found her office; he had been there before, more than once. He paused a second and then knocked; he knew this was what Rosie would call his "policeman's knock".

"Come in!" he heard her say.

He opened the door and entered. She was just putting some white powder into bags, and to see her so casual after not having seen her for weeks was a shock to his system, rattling him just when he needed to be steady. He wanted to tell her how much he'd thought about her since their talk on the stage. But this was not that kind of meeting.

He stayed silent.

She looked so at home here, her every movement elegant even as she was just clad in a generic doctor's coat on top of her other clothes. It felt like a trespass to come and take her away from this environment. Without looking up, she said "One moment" and sealed the last bag. Then she turned to her visitor.

"Inspector! What a surprise," she said, scrutinizing him, obviously trying to figure of why he was there. "Do you need help with some lethal substances?" she asked, which made him wince. She knew the case they were working on, had been the one to alert Lizzy from the beginning, as it had been one of her acquaintances, even lovers, who had been so brutally slaughtered in the factory's machine—something that just added to the suspicions against her. Could it have been a revenge for his death? That didn't sound the slightest like Doctor Fisher to Jack, but other people wouldn't see it that way. "Or have you come to see how the hospital works?"

"No, Doctor Fisher." His gaze lingered on her face, before looking around for a chair free enough to sit down on the edge of. "I have come to arrest you."

She sat stock still, trying to take in his statement.

"Arrest me?"

He reached out to touch her hand, then thought better of it and instead placed it on her desk.

"All the evidence of Gaskin's death points at you right now, Phryne. He died from bleach in his veins, distributed intravenously, and only a few minutes after you left."

She paled. His use of her first name didn't go past her and made the gravity of the situation stand out even more.

"Sounds serious," she finally managed.

"It is." He looked down on his hands. "I really don't want to do this."

For a moment she looked stricken, but almost immediately she raised herself up into her full height.

"No matter, Jack. Do what must be done." She paused. "And I'd rather it was you than anyone else."

They rose at the same time. Jack held out his hand, touched by her declaration; she took it and felt his reassuring squeeze for a moment. Then she raised her head in a proud arch and told him: "Let's do this."

Thus, Inspector Robinson took Doctor Fisher by the arm and held her close as he exited her room and walked her through the long corridor—the nurses staring as they walked by, most of the patients not taking much notice. She looked like a queen, holding her head high and serene, pretending not to hear how the nurses they passed started to whisper.

When Jack opened the door to the back seat of his police car, he saw tears threatening to fall from her eyes, but the defiance of the woman seemed to make them not dare to obey gravity. She entered the car without fuss. Jack walked over to the front seat and started the car. He thought about the couple of times he had driven her home, and she had sat next to him in the front seat, talking, laughing, and making him feel things he hadn't felt for a long time. Now she sat in the back seat, completely silent.

"I don't believe you did it. For what it's worth," he said without turning his head.

He drove to City South, where he again exited the car to take hold of her arm—he touched her ever so gently, while it looked decisive to an onlooker—and led her to his room.

"Tea, Doctor Fisher?" he asked.

"Am I allowed?" She looked at him, a surprised arch to her eyebrow that felt like a stab to his heart.

"I will have to put you in the cells later, I won't deny it. But there's nothing saying we can't go civilly about this."

"In that case, thank you, Inspector," she said, her overly formal speech followed by a very proper folding of her hands in her lap as she sat down. She looked strained.

He busied himself with the tea, fetching a teapot in the kitchen and coming back to let it brew. Then he pulled out a drawer and brought out a tin can. He opened it to reveal homemade, imperfect biscuits, offering them to her. She took two.

"Mmm," she responded to the first bite, then watched him, her curiosity clearly overtaking her distress. "Do you bake them yourself, Inspector?"

"Now you sound just like Miss MacMillan," he smiled. "I always tell her I don't want to give away all my secrets."

"The two of you have such a peculiar working dynamic," Doctor Fisher said, watching him curiously. "It's like sibling love."

She bit her tongue then, realising the last word she wanted to use in his office, while being arrested by him, was "love".

"We're… partners. Friends. She's an amazing woman."

"I know," she said. "She is."

It was of course typical of the scientific mind of Phryne Fisher, that even as she was arrested for murder, she would focus her mind on something else, a curious puzzle. The dynamics of her friend and her investigative partner.

He wished he wasn't the acting Inspector but instead someone who could sit by her side, caress her hand, and tell her that everything would be alright. Maybe even caress her cheek and that perfect bob of hair that always seemed to point out the way to her brightly painted, soft lips. If he had been more forward when she challenged him at the theatre, maybe he could have been that someone; the person allowed to caress Doctor Fisher. But he hadn't, and he couldn't. He really couldn't. His hand tingled with the anticipation of a movement he would never make.

Jack had lost himself in his contemplation; when he met her eyes again, she had a curious look on her face.

"Don't you want to ask me about where I've been and when?"

"I'll do a short questioning now, but for more, I'd rather wait until Miss MacMillan hears about this and comes storming in to tell me off."

Despite all, they shared a smile; a small, but warm smile. He proceeded to ask her the basic questions, jotting down her answers.

"Does no one ever call you 'Miss', Doctor Fisher?" he asked spontaneously, watching the name he had scribbled on the top of the page. "Miss Fisher? I kind of like the sound of that."

She looked questioningly at him.

"It happens, Inspector. Though usually not when I'm at work."

"I can see that." He paused. "Right, shall I take you down to the cells, until the whirlwind that is Miss MacMillan comes along?"

She stood. "Sounds like a plan, Inspector."

* * *

It took about half an hour, then there were fast footsteps in the corridor and Lizzy entered his office, dressed in a brown three-piece suit and a dashing black and white waistcoat. She was furious. She had been told by none other than an agitated Aunt Prudence that Fish had been taken into custody—"This is the limit, Elizabeth! I have reached the end of my patience and I can no longer protect your extravagant Doctor Fisher," she had said, describing how Fish had been marched through the hospital for anyone to watch, and by none other than her dour Inspector friend.

Before this, the case that had been such a success. Suddenly, it turned into disaster.

"Jack!" she said as soon as she entered his office. "You can't be serious about this. We've already gone through this!"

He turned to her and answered, clearly annoyed by her bluntness:

"Gaskin was dead before he hit the ground. Heart attack induced by bleach poisoning."

"I don't understand."

"There was no bleach in his stomach. The only way it could have been administered is intravenously."

She paused at that, hardly believing what she heard.

"It would have taken ten to fifteen minutes to take effect, which is long enough for the doctor to return to the hospital," he continued.

"You think it must have been done by Fish?" She almost spit out the words. "There is no reasonable motive!"

"Believe me, Miss MacMillan," he said. "I would be happy to clear the doctor's name. But then we have to find out how it could have happened another way."

Lizzy continued to explain why it couldn't possibly be her friend. She was the one who had called her in in the first place! She was not a woman to kill in a fit of passion! There was something up with Gaskin's sister! Clearly, something was wrong.

"If you have any other explanation, I'd love to hear it." He sounded angry and tired. Defeated. This was not easy for him either, Lizzy realised. In her anger, she had almost forgotten he had his own relationship to her doctor friend.

"Simple. Someone else tampered with the vial," she answered decisively.

* * *

It took until the next day for Lizzy to show that the evidence against Phryne didn't hold. Someone else had tampered with that vial. This gave Jack the pleasure of opening the cell door for Doctor Fisher, his relief more palpable than in any normal case.

"You are free to go. All suspicions have been cleared."

She looked at him, trying to read his mood.

"Thank you, Inspector," she finally said, and rose to leave the cell.

"Please, Miss Fisher," he said, knowing that he stripped her of her professional identity at that moment and just talked to her as a person, perhaps even with a kind of endearment. "Please don't find a reason to be arrested again."

As she passed him in the doorway, on her way to Lizzy waiting in Jack's room, she squeezed his arm lightly.

"Thank you, Mister Robinson," she whispered.

* * *

After further discussion, Lizzy and Jack had finally realised who the culprit must be—not the sister, but the tea lady, which made them realise undercover Dot might be in danger. When Lizzy jumped into her Hispano-Suiza, Phryne was still with her and came too. Jack and Constable Collins took the police car. They arrived at the factory just in time to see Dot grapple with the murderer, far too close to one of the lethal and active machines.

"Dot! Dot!" Miss MacMillan shouted, rushing towards the two women, aiming to separate them and managing to get hold of Dot just in time as she was about to fall into the machine. Doctor Fisher instead set out for the machine itself, taking hold of an axe she found on her way, attempting to stop it by slamming the axe into it.

Jack realised what she was about to do milliseconds before she did it.

"Phryne, no!" he shouted.

But it was already too late. She had hit the machine with full force. It spluttered to a standstill while the doctor was thrown from it, landing on her back. A few seconds later, Jack was at her side, kneeling—those seconds felt like hours.

"Phryne?" he entreated. "Phryne?" That was the most he had ever used her first name, but he didn't notice.

The silence rang in the room, deafening, until he heard a faint reply: "I'm alright."

Slowly, she rose to sitting and looked around her, a little bit dizzy, and repeated "I'm alright. Is Dot alright?"

Jack nodded. As he offered a hand to help her stand—her hand soft and warm and firm in his—he realised just how much this woman meant to him, and he had no idea how to handle the revelation.

* * *

 _This is the second to last chapter of this story. Now we only have the season finale to go!_


	8. Murder in the Dark & King Memse's Curse

_Lizzy manages to make Jack come to her cousin's engagement party, and Phryne is there too. Phryne and Jack haven't seen each other for weeks._

* * *

Miss Lizzy MacMillan was nothing if not resourceful. Although her steadfast and loyal policeman obviously was not the man for extravagant parties, she had managed to make him come to her cousin Guy's engagement party.

She asked about it as a favour to her—she needed him there to remind her not to be afraid of shadows. She could just as well have pointed out that his business card more or less said "knight in a shining armour". For her, he would be there. Always. He didn't tell her he had a court date the same day, and that when he arrived at her aunt's house, he would likely have just become a divorced man. Of course, she would probably find that out anyway.

When he arrived, Lizzy met him in the hallway, dressed in a satin jacket with a cape attached to it. Her hair was made up to look darker than her own colour and slightly longer than the female bob she usually mimicked. She had a bow instead of a tie and carried a cane in her hand. She smiled widely.

"Jack! You made it!"

"I did… Mr Oscar Wilde, is it?" He bowed to her and gave her a smile that almost hid how tired and entirely out of place he felt.

"Very good," she answered, obviously satisfied, playfully leaning on her cane.

"A bold choice," Jack said.

"Not that bold," Lizzy said, rolling her eyes. "Very few here will get the reference anyway." He understood that as the compliment it was. "But you need a costume too, Inspector," she added.

His hands went up to straighten his tie.

"I'm sure I don't. I am already perfectly disguised as a police detective."

"You won't detect much in a crowd this fast in a blue wool suit and tie, Jack."

"I don–" he protested but was immediately run over.

"You most certainly do need a costume." There was a rustle among the crowd further away and she sighed. "It seems I have to go make peace between Guy and his poor brother again. But I'm sure Fish can help you to the available costumes."

"I don–"

"Fish! Would you mind coming here? Can you please see to it the Inspector gets into a costume properly?" she said, smiling. "He might take some heavy persuasion."

Lizzy waved at what Jack realised was a figure he would never get out of his head. Phryne Fisher came towards him, a white dress draped over her hips, her stomach bare. She had a golden collar piece set over a small, white top, and a golden headdress that was impossible not to recognise. She was utterly beautiful. He hadn't seen her since the day he for a moment thought she might have electrocuted herself—his last vision of Doctor Fisher was when she was accompanied from the factory by a concerned Lizzy, while Hugh comforted Dot and Jack was left to deal with the murderous tea lady.

He cleared his throat, which seemed to have an unfortunate habit of clogging whenever Doctor Fisher was around.

"Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile," he finally managed.

"Well spotted," she smiled.

That was a smile he had been dreaming about lately, but also a smile he had decided to withstand, at any cost. He knew he couldn't let this fancy take over him, and least of all today, when he was just raw out of the divorce court.

Still, when Phryne led him upstairs, he didn't resist more than as a token, still curious about the costume she and Miss MacMillan would have picked out for him. When he saw the Antony costume, he blanched.

"Lizzy was very adamant we should keep this for you," Phryne said as she held it up for viewing.

"Of course she was," he answered, his voice not completely steady, as he watched the costume. It matched Doctor Fisher's spectacularly, and it was far too undressed for his taste.

"I have to say I agree with her," she said, a small smile on her lips. "It seems to be made for you."

Jack hesitated.

"Am I to be 'the triple pillar of the world, transformed into a strumpet's fool'?" he said.

Doctor Fisher glanced at him, smiling as she recognized the quote.

"Haven't you been a single pillar for far too long, at least, Inspector?"

His eyes grew large at that. Three and a half hours. Was that already too long? But of course, she didn't know that detail, and he wasn't about to tell her. He didn't dare to upset the balance that somehow seemed to exist in this room as she turned to him with a smile and an innocent air; it seemed she had decided to go for lightness.

"Do you need a helping hand, Inspector?" she asked. "I'm sure costumes like this can be very tricky."

He saw her move her hand towards him, one deft movement loosening his tie—her touch sent an electric current through his body and she stopped as he shivered, realising that was perhaps a slightly too intimate gesture. She lowered her hand again. She seemed uncertain of what to do and where the two of them stood, after that day in the factory when he'd shouted her name, just to then not speak to her again.

She stayed still, having lost the teasing smile as she gazed into his eyes. The lightness of the moment was gone, and only the questions and uncertainty were left—and a heady feeling of attraction that took his breath away. The way she looked at his lips, and into his eyes, made him want to press her against the wall and kiss her until neither of them could remember where they were.

But he couldn't do it. He hadn't been divorced for more than a few hours, she was a woman who didn't believe in romantic love, and he was here solely on the request of Miss MacMillan, who needed him to keep an eye on things and help chase away her shadows. He had to keep control and think about what was more important.

Even as he swallowed hard and swayed towards her, his eyes glued on those beautiful lips of hers, he stayed in place, refusing to touch her.

"If the two of you really want a Roman soldier, Doctor Fisher," he said, more seriously than he had intended, his talent for light teasing apparently deserting him, "I think I'd better do it on my own."

After a heartbeat, and with a small smile, Phryne accepted this and moved to leave the room. Half of him wanted to shout to her that he didn't mean it, of course he wanted her to stay, but at that moment, Miss MacMillan appeared in the doorway, her face white and her hand clasping a small envelope.

"This was left for me." She looked like she was seeing a ghost, as she showed them a small, blue ribbon. "It was Janey's. She was wearing ribbons in her hair the day she disappeared. I have the other one." She paused. "I don't understand."

There was no more time for either fun, flirtation, or disappointments of the heart. Jack went into Detective Inspector mode and rushed away together with Miss MacMillan to try to find Arthur, who suddenly seemed to have been suspiciously present at every time of foul play, and then later to hurry home to Wardlow and Jane.

Doctor Fisher stayed behind, taking care of the people at the party and explaining what was happening.

* * *

The Monday after, Phryne was surprised to hear a knock at her office door, just to see Jack Robinson enter her space. He was the last person she expected to see. She hadn't heard a word from him since the case in the factory, and then when she'd met him at Guy's engagement party, it had all ended abruptly.

The last time he'd set foot at the hospital, he had come to arrest her. That thought came unbidden as he stood there in the door watching her, obviously there in his official capacity. What could be the matter now?

"I didn't think I had any dealings with the police at the moment, Inspector," she said to the unmoving man. "No victims in the ward and no outpatients that could have possibly dropped dead after I injected them with something."

She smiled wryly, her eyes lingering in his. She thought he had decided she was somehow too much for his delicate constitution to handle. If that was the case, Phryne Fisher wouldn't insist, even if she would miss him. She would keep her distance and leave him in peace to simply be Lizzy's friend and crime-solving partner.

"May I talk to you, Doctor Fisher?" he said.

She made a little pause, but she already knew she couldn't refuse him.

"Please, have a seat, Inspector." She couldn't help a little sarcastic squint as she said it. This relationship had become one of her most complicated ones, and she had always tried to avoid those. What did he want? Apologise for the other night? Continuing where they had left off? Surely, there was not much to continue from? He looked serious and uncomfortable, as if bracing himself a little.

"Thank you for seeing me," he started, and she leaned back a little in her chair, staying silent and letting him set the pace.

"It's Miss Macmillan," he said, and he immediately had Phryne's attention. She leaned forward again, her elbow on the desk. If this was about Lizzy, it must be serious.

"What about her?"

"I want to do everything in my power to help her with her lost sister," he said. "I want to see if we can find a pattern in these events, old and new. Foyle has escaped, as you know, and we need to find him as soon as possible. It's an old case and there are so many details to review. Would you care to help me with some of them?"

Phryne looked appraisingly at him. Was this Jack Robinson apologising for having all but disappeared? By including her in what he knew she would care about the most—helping Lizzy? If it was, he was a damned clever man.

"You want me to help you with your investigation?" she asked, her voice incredulous.

"I do," he answered. "It would mean a lot for the investigation." He paused and looked her in the eyes. "And to me."

She inhaled quickly and watched him for a few seconds; the silence between them tingling in the air. He had come to her to ask for help, for Lizzy.

"Of course I'll help."

He nodded gratefully and gave her a crooked smile. She realised how much she'd missed that smile and the way it reluctantly came to exist, primarily living in the corners of his mouth.

He settled down more comfortably in the visitor's chair, turning to the case and the details of what he wanted her to search for, at the university and at the hospital.

When he stood to leave, she stood too. He held out his hand to shake hers, and she took it.

"Thank you, Doctor Fisher," he said, squeezing her hand. He smiled. "It feels good to be on the same team again."

She responded with a small smile. "Thank you, Inspector."

When he exited her room, she stood still until she heard his footsteps disappear slowly down the corridor. She was touched, heart-warmed, almost elated. It seemed Jack Robinson had truly understood her—what was important to her, how she wanted to be part of things, and the depth of her relationship to Lizzy.

And now, she could help them both.

Phryne set to work with all her energy, making phone calls and digging through registers. She called Jack on the phone a couple of times, when she'd found out things he wanted to know—giving him everything he'd asked for and a little more, hearing the warmth in his voice when he gratefully received her findings.

Jack was right, it did feel great to be a team again, to work together and exchange ideas. She'd missed that.

* * *

The days that followed were busy. Jack took his collection of evidence and put them up on the walls to get a better visual grasp of them. Then he showed what he'd created to Lizzy. She was awestruck, realising what he'd done, and that he'd done it for her.

"Oh Jack," she said, teary-eyed as she took in all the maps, pictures, and notes he'd collected.

They were looking them through when Lizzy spotted a pattern—the birthdates! That was the last piece of the puzzle needed to start unravelling the unlikely story of Murdoch Foyle and his beliefs about the afterlife.

She sprang up, ready to take on the world and hurry to the university. Jack's heart leaped into his throat—he couldn't allow her to simply rush there, with no plan, and give herself up to save Jane.

"You can't go there and just offer yourself up," he protested. This was a disaster; Miss MacMillan sacrificing herself blindly to a lunatic. She was brave, but this was far too foolish.

"I need to go back there," she answered. "It's the only thing I can do to save Jane. I cannot let her suffer because of me."

"It's not because of you, Lizzy. And we will find another way," he said. When she started to go, he ran after her.

"I won't let you do this," he said.

Before he knew it, he had not only grabbed her and arrested her, he also had a sore shin to show for it. Miss MacMillan knew how to kick, hard. Poor Constable Collins got the task of locking her up—to protect her from herself—as Jack himself instead drove to the university.

It didn't go well. He was hit on the head and disposed of, and when he finally came to and broke out of his prison, with the help of young Jane, he found that Lizzy had managed to escape the police cell and had sought out Foyle.

He hurriedly made it towards the voices he could hear.

"B-but... you came willingly!" he heard the murderer protest. "You wanted to be my fourth goddess."

"You're a fool," Lizzy's voice answered. "How could you think I came willingly to you? I came willingly to find out what happened to my sister. And to rescue Jane and Jack."

Jack flinched as he heard his own name. She had come to rescue him, and now she was in danger.

A shot rang out.

"You will not hurt anyone more," Lizzy said, and as he entered the room he saw her stagger. His first thought was that she was shot, but it was Foyle who clutched his side and couldn't properly move as blood flowed between his fingers.

She had managed to win over him, even as she was badly affected herself—probably by poison like the other girls in the case. She stood before her sister's murderer like a vengeful goddess—a completely different goddess than Foyle had hoped for. Her red hair shone like a beacon in the poorly lit room, her fedora long gone, and her hair less neatly controlled than usual.

Foyle turned and grasped after a sacrificial knife, and the last thing Lizzy managed to do was to harshly grab it from his hand and throw it away.

"No! You're not headed for eternal life," she hissed. "You're going back to jail, so you can hang. That's all you deserve. That's all you've ever deserved."

Jack was struck by the strength radiating from her—jaw set, hands shaking, eyes determined. He had no idea how poisonous the drink she had ingested was. What if it was deadly? What if what he saw was Miss MacMillan's—Lizzy's—death struggle? He felt a wave of nausea, but he had to press it away. He had to be there for her. She was about to topple over, and she had nowhere to safely land. Jack rushed to her, and before she reached the ground he had her. He hauled her up so he could carry her in his arms. A small voice in his head said that he probably should arrest Foyle, but he stubbornly quenched it. Foyle wouldn't go anywhere. Lizzy was his prime responsibility.

"Jane!" Jack growled, his voice gone dry from fright, "Jane, come with me. We have to take Miss MacMillan to hospital."

He carried the lifeless Lizzy MacMillan out from the university, Jane trailing after him, the worry about her guardian plain on her face. All he could hear in his head was his own voice saying, over and over again, please don't let her die please don't let her die.

* * *

Phryne felt her heart catch in her throat when she saw Jack coming to her ward, carrying a lifeless Elizabeth MacMillan in his arms. She looked so strange, hanging limply like that, all her energy gone. It almost made Phryne's eyes tear up.

"This way, Inspector," she said, striving for professional, showing him into the corridor and then into a single room. "You can lay her down here."

He did, and Phryne busied herself with putting Lizzy in a comfortable position and steadying her head on the pillow.

"She drank his poison," Jack whispered. "But he was set to make his sacrifices with a knife—I hope that means whatever she drank wasn't lethal."

He looked stricken. His usually so composed exterior was a mess—his hair floating freely down his forehead making him look younger than normal. Phryne suspected she saw a bump on his head, giving away he too needed to be taken care of.

Phryne rang for a nurse.

"Yes, Doctor Fisher?"

"Prepare to pump out the patient's stomach, nurse," Phryne said.

She was all business and there was no time for squeamishness. Jack admired her resoluteness, despite it being her best friend lying there, perhaps dying. She turned to him.

"I need you to leave, Inspector."

"No!"

"Lizzy would not want more spectators than necessary to this messy business. Go to the waiting room; I'll fetch you when we're done." She ostensibly looked him over. "And ask a nurse to check your head while you're at it." She saw his reluctance and added, "Please, Jack?"

He sighed and nodded his agreement.

It took longer than he thought, and he didn't like to be out of the loop. When Phryne came out to fetch him, telling him Lizzy was alright, she'd lost her appearance of armoured warrior riding into the fray and looked more like a normal woman again—worried, tired, but also rather victorious. He glanced at her and what he saw in her eyes made him want to walk up to her and take her in his arms, caress her hair and tell her how wonderful she was. Of course, he didn't. Instead, he cleared his throat and nodded towards the entrance to Lizzy's room.

"May I go in?"

"Of course, Inspector," she said, standing slightly to the side so he could pass—he could sense a whisk of her warm body beneath the doctor's coat as he passed her. She was going away; he had no idea where, but he imagined there were loads of things to do, colleagues to talk to. Perhaps she needed to sit down and breathe or had paper work to attend.

When he entered the room, Lizzy was alone, peacefully asleep. She was dressed in a hospital gown, and with all her hairpins gone her hair billowed freely over the pillow. He realised he'd never known how long it really was. She was beautiful, pale, and far too still; his heart clenched with the fear that she would never move again, never again open those eyes to scrutinize him over a murder victim. The thoughts came unbidden, even though he'd been told she was out of danger.

He sat down in the chair next to her bed and just looked at her. Finally, he took her hand and placed it in his own much bigger hands, giving it a squeeze as he whispered, "You frightened me, Miss MacMillan." He paused. "I'm here, Lizzy. You're not alone."

He was exhausted. When Doctor Fisher came back half an hour later, with a worried Camellia and a frantic Dot in tow, that was how they found him, still holding her hand, fast asleep.

* * *

"You scared me, Lizzy," Camellia said as she closed the door to the hospital room. "You looked like you might never wake up again."

Lizzy was still in the bed, reclining on a massive layer of pillows. She was watching Camellia intently, wondering where she was going with this. Was Camellia going to say she shouldn't take this kind of risks? Would she try to protect her from herself? But she was Lizzy MacMillan. She didn't back down for danger, and that was not something she could change just because she had a steady lover. No matter how much she loved Camellia.

Lizzy's heart made a double take. Lying there in the hospital bed, the implications of that thought hit her deeper than they had before. She really, most definitely, loved Camellia Lin.

Camellia had allowed Dot to hug her mistress fiercely, then she had ushered both her and the abruptly awoken Inspector out of the room. She turned to her lover, her heart clenching at the sight of her in hospital clothes, red hair free and long. She had never seen Lizzy's hair flow free outside of Wardlow before.

"That was an incredibly foolish thing to do, Lizz," she said.

Lizzy tilted her head and looked at her. Camellia was standing a few feet away, her dress of the day in golden silk with red details to the side of her collar. The dress matched her skin spectacularly; her stillness making her resemble a statue. Her eyes had an expression of worry in an otherwise passive face.

"I couldn't bear to do nothing, Camellia. I had to act," Lizzy answered, looking away at the window. After a short pause she repeated, "I had to act."

Was this how it would all end, the delightful relationship they'd built together? A companionship that had started in a mutual admiration of fighting skills in an alley, and then had turned into exploring an unconventional life together. Would it end in a fight over her safety?

Her eyes flicked back to her conversation partner, watching Camellia take a step closer to her, finally laying a hand on her arm.

"I know, Lizz," she said.

Lizzy held her breath.

"You do?"

Camellia put her hand under Lizzy's chin, forcing her eyes meet her own.

"I know you, Elizabeth MacMillan. I know you could never leave Jane in the hands of a madman. Or the Inspector, for that matter." She made a pause. "That's why I love you."

Lizzy looked into Camellia's eyes for a heartbeat, seeing how they were starting to tear up. She couldn't allow that. She rose up to sitting and pressed her lips to Camellia's, her hand snaking around her shoulders to press her closer. She needed to keep her there, to anchor herself in this world where Camellia was here by her side, caring for her, loving her, not trying to change her.

When she withdrew, she only did it far enough to be able to lean her forehead against Camellia's.

"I love you," she said.

Camellia smiled and let her fingers caress Lizzy's cheek.

"I still think you should wait for backup more often," she said.

Lizzy produced a crooked smile as she nodded. "Perhaps."

"Also," Camellia said, sitting down on the side of the hospital bed, letting her fingers play with Lizzy's hand before looking her straight in the eyes. "You do realize you have no say if you ever think I take too many risks with the thugs in China town?"

* * *

It was December 21st—the longest day of the year, and Elizabeth MacMillan's birthday. Despite her fight against the heavy sedative, her shock of almost losing Jane, and her sorrow and relief in finding Janey, she had still decided she wanted to celebrate her birthday in style. Not a large party, but music and drinks. Her home decorated and filled with the people she loved, the people that made it a true home to her. They were all there: Dot and Hugh, Phryne and Jane, Cec and Bert, Aunt Prudence and Arthur. Mr Butler, the genie of the house. Camellia, her delightful love. And Jack, reassuring, stalwart Jack, taking the chance to get the signature for her statement at the same time, but staying for the party.

He didn't feel overly much for partying; the burden of the last days hung heavily over him. His divorce, having had to embarrass himself in the court room to let Rosie free; the mad chase of Foyle and the fear about Jane, about Miss MacMillan, about everything. But it had all turned out for the best and he needed to let that sink in—and what better way than in the company of friends? He stayed in the doorway, a drink in his hand poured by Mr Butler, just looking at the happy dancers. The people Lizzy had collected around her. Jack felt honoured to be one of them.

As Lizzy moved through the room, laughing and swirling in her perfectly cut suit, stopping shortly to kiss Phryne on the mouth before moving along, his mind settled on the two women who had come to mean so much to him. The sparkling sun with her red hair and lively cravat to go with it, exuberant and always on her way to new discoveries, and the shining moon with her black hair, in a silver coloured dress that took his breath away, and with a mind as inquisitive and logical as she was beautiful.

Jack's heart ached at the easiness and joy around them. They were brilliant together; how could he do anything but smile at the sight of them? No matter how much they complicated his life, they surely enhanced it in equal amount. He stayed on the side, not willing to walk up to Phryne Fisher. He still didn't know exactly where they stood, if her help with the case was only a pause in their estrangement, or if it was a real truce.

As the evening proceeded, his attempts to keep away from the doctor self-destructed, partly due to the champagne. Without knowing exactly how, he found himself standing beside her in a corner of the party, chatting about nothing of consequence, secretly wondering if there was any chance in hell she would ever step out with him. Do modern women even step out, he wondered, or is that antiquated? What would he have to do to find out?

Camellia passed by and stopped to exchange a few words with them.

"Inspector Robinson, you look much more rested now! I'm so grateful you were there for Lizzy when she needed you." Her usually so calm face broke out into a broad smile as she squeezed his arm. She turned to Phryne. "And you, Fish. Both of you." Camellia had quickly taken over Lizzy's nickname for her—she was the only one except Lizzy who used it, and Phryne found she couldn't mind.

"Of course, Mrs Lin," was all Jack managed to get out; he had too many feelings on the subject. Ranging from how could she be so stupid and rash via thank god she came after me to dear heaven she survived. Phryne smiled and kissed Camellia on the cheek.

"And have you settled yet as a divorced man?" Camellia asked, turning back to him. The question shook Jack out of his reverie. Camellia looked at Phryne, who couldn't hide her surprise as she flicked her eyes to Jack and then back to her friend's lover. "You do know he divorced, Fish?" she continued. "The same day as Cousin Guy's engagement party. Lizz told me; she always finds out everything."

Camellia flashed her beautiful smile and moved across the room to join Lizzy at the drink table.

Phryne turned to Jack.

"The engagement party. That's when I teased you about costumes. And single pillars."

Jack looked her tentatively in the eyes, giving a small nod as reply. Her look turned a little stern.

"I meant to make light, not poke at an open wound. You could have told me," she said decisively. Then her voice turned slightly softer. "But I am sorry, Jack."

He gazed at her, noticing the way her silver dress sparkled in the light from the fire.

"I'll just have to say what I say to Miss MacMillan," he said, his eyes locked in hers and a small smile in the corner of his lips. "Don't be remorseful, Miss Fisher. It only confuses me."

The realisation that he had called her Miss Fisher, that he once again chose to talk to her without her title, triggered a smile to bloom in her face. Her eyes sparkled.

"Then I won't apologise. And I can't say I regret it all that much," she teased him softly.

His heart beat unnecessary fast.

"You don't?"

She tilted her head as she looked at him.

"Perhaps we could decide to give it another try, at some point, Mr Robinson."

He took a deep breath.

"I'd like that. Very much."

He could feel the tension in the air between them, it was like an electric current that didn't have anywhere to go. They stood silent for some time, watching Mr Butler pour more juice for Jane and Arthur. Finally, Phryne spoke again.

"I don't usually wait for men to deliberate on whether they want me or not."

He raised his eyebrow, quizzically.

"Is that what you did?"

She smiled and shook her head slightly.

"I might have. For a given value of 'waiting.'"

He pondered her answer with an almost invisible smile on his lips.

"I guess I'm free now," he conceded, flicking his eyes to hers. "Free, and rather scandalous."

"Just the way I like my men," she teased, earning her a raised eyebrow.

But he kept on smiling nonetheless, and his eyes turned rather soft as he quietly looked at her.

"Do you?" he finally asked.

"Do I what?"

"Do you like me?"

"You are a silly man. I just told you, I usually don't wait for any man."

She had surprised herself by finding that this man might be worth the wait—the realisation had dawned on her fully when he'd come to ask her for help to be able to help her best friend. He was not too proud or too stubborn to do what was best and right, and his simple gesture had been the final straw.

Phryne smiled wryly, and when she saw his responding grin she reached out to capture his lapels, slowly dragging him towards her, tilting her head in a way that made her intent clear. Surprisingly, he allowed himself to be dragged, thinking they were in a corner after all, and perhaps he didn't have to be the noble man every single time? When their lips finally met, his hand sought out the back of her head, allowing him to dive into the kiss with every ounce of the feelings he had for this woman. There were no other sensations but her lips, and tongue, and breath, and hands.

When they came up for air, the party had gone quiet, the rest of the guests staring at them. Bert's cigarette was on the verge of falling from his mouth, and Hugh Collins' eyes did a better impersonation of saucers than they had ever done before. Jack blushed, realising what a spectacle he had made of himself. Phryne only smiled, unabashed.

Jane blinked, and then turned to whisper to Aunt Prudence, loud enough for everyone to hear:

"I don't understand. I haven't even put up the mistletoe yet."

They all laughed at that; it was a welcome relief to the awkward silence.

Phryne grabbed the chance as soon as the laughter quieted down:

"How about a toast?" she said.

Everyone grabbed their glasses and turned to her, attentive.

"To my oldest and most spectacular friend, on her birthday and always, to everything she brings us and everything she is—even when she almost gives us a heart attack."

"Hear, hear!" Cec and Bert cheered.

Aunt Prudence looked scandalised for a moment, before breaking out into a wide grin.

"That's precisely it, isn't it?" she said.

They all mumbled in accord and drank their toasts. Jane rose up to kiss Miss MacMillan on her cheek, and Camellia slid up at her side with suspiciously moist eyes.

"Happy birthday, darling," she said, and kissed her thoroughly.

Yes, Lizzy thought after the kiss, looking around the room and all her friends. She thought back to that moment months ago when she had set her foot in Australia again, wondering if this would be a short stop or something more permanent. There was no doubt about it.

The Honourable Miss Elizabeth MacMillan really was home.

 _The End._

* * *

 _Thank you all who followed this story, and thank you for your kind and lovely reviews!_


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